Of Oranges and Cherries
by CornedBeefRoast
Summary: When you're born with the weight of the world on your shoulders, how can you know a life beyond what is expected of you? Zhaitan is on the horizon, she's told to kill it, or Tyria will burn. They give her a sword and point her in the right direction, shut their eyes tight and pray she obeys her destiny. She doesn't-not how they thought she would. Updated whenever. R&R Please! :)
1. Where Life Goes

Ah, well, let's see. It's been _ages_ since I've written anything of substance, but I got suddenly inspired one day. This will follow closely with the GW2 story quests so SPOILERS ahead, with embellishment on my part.

Review! It's been so long, so I'd definitely appreciate **any** constructive criticisms y'all have to offer. Negative, positive, neutral, the whole shabang.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_Of Anecdotes, Of Gold, Of Bluebells_

_Of the Reaper_

_Of Anger, Of Hatred, Of Dogs_

_And the love of them._

* * *

You know.

It was interesting.

One moment you're a floating seed in darkness.

Next moment you fall ten feet into the cold night, handed a set of armor and told "Go, have fun, don't die."

(Laughs)

Okay, maybe not that brusque, after all, my people are born walking.

Running in some cases.

My name is Abhari, cycle of night, I'm a sylvari.

We're… peculiar, I guess, to the other races of Tyria, they have to grow up, they start off so small! Cubs, progeny, little things like that.

I fell from my pod, stood up, a little dazed, but I walked, one foot forward, didn't even have to crawl, and oh! The rush! To feel solid ground beneath my feet, the chill wind on my flesh, and, Mother, the _stars_.

They were gorgeous when I looked up.

My first sight of the real world outside the dream was the stars, brilliant little jewels in the sky, twinkling and falling and flashing and smirking, the quirky bastards.

I like to think they know so much, they've seen Tyria from the beginning, they know all, and wink like they've got a secret.

But they won't tell us Tyrians.

No, they only confide in the moon and the sun.

But the way mother talks, I think the sun tells her some secrets, juicy gossip from the galaxy. But she wouldn't talk to me.

I'm a… I don't know… ninth born? I guess we lost count of our generations now but… I'm just not a firstborn not… not one of her first children.

Which was all the more surprising when she called me to her chambers.

~ _Chronicles of a sprout, Entry 1_

* * *

This would be the first time she'd stepped into the upper sanctum.

It was gorgeous, yes, but she was still… hmm, cautious, nervous, trembling like a leaf.

Golden boughs stretched and arced gracefully overhead, creating a lattice work of beached wood and shimmering leaves as tall as she was.

They whispered soft in the wind, the gentle _sashaay_ing of the forest barely a breath against her cheek.

Golden pollen flashed when it caught the sun, floating in the air, carried on the gentlest breeze. Silver and blue flowers climbed down from the boughs in vines, she could catch the sight of copper centers whenever the flowers tilted towards her in their gentle sway.

Stained glass lined with dark roots were grown in between some of the boughs, and in a smattering of the gaping holes in the floor. Their colors refracted against the sun, sparking and reflecting across the chamber in brilliant blues and reds, soft lilac and pink, forest green and sunflower yellow.

She peered through one of the windows, admiring the pattern, a vine blooming in a fiery flower.

Looking closer, she could see a face in the flower, fangs, a lion? Or a snake?

She couldn't find out when a voice called out.

"Careful!" she jumped back in surprise, looking up to see a sylvari she hadn't noticed, standing in an alcove with sylvan pups at his feet.

"It's a long fall." She blinks, dazed, and looks down into the window again, but past it, to see a lethal drop down into the Marshaling field.

"I-I'll be careful." She stammers and can't help the surge in her spine of both fear and excitement.

Her voice is still new to her, foreign as the distant shores of Elona.

Every time she speaks with a language she learned in a dream she doesn't hear… herself; just a voice with no face to put it to.

She tried looking in a mirror and talking to herself, but even then, her eyes were foreign, her purple and red cherry wood bark was odd to see reflected back at her.

In the end she could barely recognize herself in a mirror much less her own voice.

Malomedies, her mentor and luminary of night, said it would take some time, some saplings more so than others, and perhaps she was the latter.

Malomedies blamed it on the trauma.

But she blamed it on the anger.

Fronds tickled her toes, reminding her of her position, the little fern seedlings curling between them, making her laugh and jump away.

"No, stop that." She giggles, and _tut-tuts_ the seedlings.

The ferns seemed disappointed, curling back into themselves grumpily.

The sylvari surrounded by fern pups smiled at her "They do that. Friendly little seedlings they are, like to greet the visitors." He laughs when one of his pups bolts from the pack and circles around her, excitedly yapping.

"She does too." Abhari kneels down to snatch the puppy, barreling her over onto her stomach to give her a scratch.

"What's her name?" she asks fondly, looking up.

"That one? That is Pema." Abhari lets go and the pup bolts back to her pod mates. She smiles and stands up, brushing pollen off her hands and knees.

"And yours?" She looks up, surprised.

"Ah, I'm… uhm-" she purses her lips.

She remembers the dark skinned woman she saw in her dream.

Pale eyes, lifeless.

Lips blue with frost.

She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

"Abhari-" she smiles "My name is Abhari!"

"Forget your name, sapling?" He asks.

"For a bit, yes."

He chuckles and beckons her forward, takes her hand in a firm shake.

"My name is Parroen, cycle of dawn."

And she _blushes_, because she knows she's messed up; she'd forgotten her cycle in her greeting, and she wonders if he is offended.

She sighs.

All these social rules were hard to grasp outside the dream.

She suspected that it would be worse outside the Grove.

"Ah, I'm c-cycle of night." And she sees it, that small flicker of curiosity behind his eyes before he tucks it away.

She found that many of her brothers and sisters were curious about her and her siblings of night.

Night blooms were secretive, quiet, though she didn't see the problem in that. She relished the night, how the shadows whispered welcome to her upon their arrival, and the vast dark sky above brought power to her greater than the warmth of the sun.

Though the sun that flickers between the bending boughs above her is tender and inviting just as well.

She kneels down to smooth the ruffled leaves of some of the sylvan pups.

"These ones look healthy, Parroen, do you watch over them?" She asks as he kneels down to join her, smacking a pup on the nose when he begins to gnaw on Abhari's leathers.

"I do. I see them to the world and train them. In a month or two these will be ready to protect the Grove with the Wardens." He eyes her, noticing the tell-tale glow of appreciation and affection.

"Where is yours?" She's startled, looks up at him in confusion.

He gestures "Your dog?"

She blushes and absently makes a notion as if to tuck hair behind her ear.

It was something she'd seen the other sylvari do, and a visiting human with long hair. She was jealous of them, they had blossoms, and canopies of leaves and vines, fronds and cattails. She had a head of thorns the color of cherry and cinnamon, sharp, and just a blue enough tint to make natural creatures consider her poisonous.

"M-marrow, is his name." she finally flusters out.

"Full grown sylvan, he greeted me outside my pod. Refused to ride the lift though." She gestures to the spiraling pod geared by magic, lifting visitors to and from the Omphalos Chamber.

Parroen chuckles.

"I don't remember Marrow, he must be one of Danador's then?" she nods.

"Danador is a good trainer, Marrow will serve you well, Abhari." She smiles absently at a thought.

"I did not see him this young. He is older than me!" she laughs "Danador told me he was gnawing the gates of his pen, driven mad to get out and adventure. Last time he escaped he ran for the pods, I nearly fell right on top of him!" And Parroen _laughs_.

He sniffs and dabs at the moisture by his eyes "My, but that is good timing."

"Sapling-" They both look to see Caithe stepping from the other edge of the chamber where a great blooming white flower glistens gold and bright with sunlight.

Caithe was the one who had summoned Abhari to the chamber. She was firstborn, like Malomedies, also of the night but not a luminary. She was a… an adventurer, who decided to take Abhari under her wing, even before she was born, as Caithe had entered the Dream and sought her out.

"Guess that's your cue." Parroen stands, taking her hand to help her up.

"Good luck, sapling, I fear your journey will be long and dark." She feels a pit fall in her stomach as she smiles at him.

It would seem her reputation preceded her.

Not bad for a sapling barely four months old.

"I know, thank you Parroen." She squeezes his hand more for her comfort than his, and turns to Caithe.

She sees Malomedies behind her, his dark branches colored with a few dappled soft orange leaves, dark but warm oak skin and brass colored eyes.

He gives her a gentle nod, she returns it respectfully as she approaches the two firstborn, nerves bundling in her stomach. The little ferns nipper at her feet as though in comfort as she passes.

"Sapling, I am glad you came so soon." _After your ordeal_.

Caithe offers her no smile, it is not in her nature, but she does give Abhari a grip on her arm and shoulder both.

A careful greeting.

"Come, Mother wishes to see you." She steps aside, revealing the glowing white flower.

Abhari feels the sap in her veins flush when she realizes the flower is the Pale Tree herself, can see it now as she turns to face her child. Abhari ducks her head, half bowing in respect and to keep her stomach in check.

"Mother Tree, I- it is my honor." She hears a gentle sigh.

"Rise, my daughter." She lifts herself but does not look up, she doesn't want to.

She suspects the Pale Tree already knows why.

"Abhari, my child, let me see your eyes." She can hear the lament in her mother tree's voice, a quiet plea.

But she fears what the Pale Tree will see when she looks into her eyes.

It is too soon when she feels the knuckle at her chin, gently tipping her head up, she keeps her eyes shut.

The hand that smooths over her cheek is gentle and warm and so very _caring_, it makes her insides wither, she wants to give in, let go of the emotions boiling beneath the surface of a newborn sapling.

Finally, she does open her eyes, the color of bluebells in the shadow of night.

The Pale Tree is gorgeous, bathed in light and dressed in white, she is a bride to the sun, lover of the dawn and companion of the moon, and she has a hard time believing that this is her mother. The gentle hands, the small smile so lovely and understanding.

"P-please, mother, I-" Abhari stammers.

"Oh, my dear child." The Pale Tree holds Abhari's face in her hands, and the little girl inside her heart breaks the surface in the form of hot wet tears streaming down her face, delving into the texture of her bark and skimming off her mother's smooth skin.

"Mother I-I'm so _so_ sorry." She cries.

"I am sorry too, young one. To be the bringer of death this soon could not be my first wish of you." And that is enough to make Caithe jump, a sudden gasp of understanding spawning from the firstborn.

Caithe made Abhari kill her best friend.


	2. Called to Service

**Chapter 2 – Three months, two weeks earlier**

_It is not everyday you fight the undead._

_But when the dead come knocking_

_You'd best have a word with Hades._

* * *

The stag had been spotted in the area just off the Verdence, and following its tracks, she'd managed to stalk it into the Grenbrack Delves.

The sun was crisp on her back, and her leathers didn't make it any easier to breath in the sticky heat.

But her skin prickled and heart _thrummed_ with excitement.

This was her first hunt **ever**, two weeks out of the pod and she was out in the wilds, hunting. Though not for the kill, the idea of it still held its promise.

Marrow snuffed the ground ahead of her, his head low as he tracked down the White Stag.

He lifted his nose to the air, stretching so far as to climb on an extended root over the shallow waters of the Delves.

"Anything?" She calls.

He _whuffs_ and beats his tail morosely.

Nothing.

She stands up in the water, finding no prints embedded in the mud beneath the surface.

The tracks had stopped at the water's edge but did not diverge on any other path, so into the water she wade, cool against her calves, a pleasant reprieve from the jungle heat.

She shielded her eyes from the sun, surveying the land. It was fair enough, no blossoms like in the Grove, but the cliff side was covered in green, mostly moss, ferns, and short grass. The twisting massive roots that arced overhead were the same, providing strips of shadow across the water below.

A tropical bird _twittered_ in the distance, she could see the flash of red wings circling over the Verdence a hop and a skip away.

Then she saw the cavern.

Big gaping mouth showing off slate blue stone, a tall and narrow entrance to a cool refuge.

"Marrow." She clicked her tongue and the dog made a noisy _splash_ down into the water from his perch on the root.

She flinched at the noise but couldn't help her smile at the dog when he realizes just how cool the pool of water is, and promptly drops onto his stomach, smiling like the happiest dog in Caledon.

"_Maroooow_." She coos, the dog's ears swiveling.

"I'm sure there's cooler water in the caverns." And oh the _look_ he gives her.

He rolls his eyes and dramatically picks himself up, nipping at her outstretched hand as if to say '_**Now**__you tell me, after I get all __comfortable__.'_

She crosses the pool, smiling at the little fish that nip at her boots, caustics shimmering across the surface of the clear spring like shattered glass. Shots of white and blue that crisscross and make it look like an Elementalist's lightning field.

Except without the sting.

She admires the water for a spell, until she hears the low warning growl that launches her into a crouch, hand plunging into the mud between her feet at the edge of the water closest to the cavern.

Marrow stands at the entrance, his ears pulled back and hackles raised.

Her heart positively _sang_ in her ears.

"What is it, boy?" She asks excitedly.

"Is it-" she barely catches the scream in her throat when a—a _thing_ reaches from the ground to grab at Marrow's ankles.

The dog yips and jumps away, whirling to snarl at the pair of hands digging themselves out of the sand.

The skin is pale as pearl, blue veins throbbing black sludge out of oozing cuts. The undead minion clawed its way out of its sandy grave, going after Marrow on all fours, lumbering and nearly falling to pieces as is.

"_Marrow_!" she barks and he comes running back to his master unquestioningly.

She sheathes her bow and breaks out her sword and torch.

She wasn't excited any more.

Her skin didn't thrum with warm energy, no, now she was ice.

She felt a cold sweat roll down her back, comparing the droplet down her spine to the black goo drooling from the undead's broken jaw.

It whirls to where the dog retreats, spotting the sylvari, its larger and _tastier_ prey.

"Its okay Marrow." She whispers though he didn't make a sound.

It was more for her than him, it always was, he'd seen these creatures before but she… she had viewed from a distance.

This would be her first time in combat with one.

The thing bared its rotting teeth, gums turned blue and tongue missing, red spittle flying from its mouth, maybe from an unfortunate hare.

She grimaces, tightens her grip on her torch to stop her fingers from trembling, lifts, and aims.

"Mother, wish me luck." And she throws.

The torch lodges itself in the minion's gawping mouth and she flinches again at its _scream_.

It does not burn as she'd hoped, the soggy skin stopping the fire from spreading doubt its insides are certainly starting to cook.

But it doesn't yank the torch out, it has no sense of self-preservation, it just screams that horrid _wet_ scream and charges her.

"Go!" She points and Marrow lunges, knocking the minion down by landing on its chest.

The undead flails its arms, trying to grab the dog already jumping over it.

It twists to follow the dog, clawing into the sand to pull itself back to its feet, a dire mistake, perhaps for all three of them.

Abhari swings her blade, the Asura make cutting into the minion's side…and cleaving it in two. The bottom half drops, kicking for an instant before going lifeless, the top half flails and gargles in the water. Her torch is snuffed out and now jutting through the back of its skull when it fell forward, onto the pommel of the torch.

Black ooze seeps from the severed spinal cord and the thing twists, trying to see Abhari with its wide and wild eyes.

She sneers and doesn't let it make eye contact, stabbing through its skull with a downward thrust into the ground.

"O-okay…" she breathes, and does the begrudging task of removing her torch from the body.

"T-that w-was-" she swallows and shudders, walking stiff-legged away from the dead minion to clean off her blade and torch at the clear edge of the spring.

Her heart hammers in her chest and her hands tremble, making it a difficult task to clean the worst of the goo from her leather coat.

Marrow whines when he returns to her side, nudging the hand cleaning off the black ooze.

"I know but… the earth will clean the water. Uhm… filter it, don't worry." She scratches him under his chin.

He lifts away from her stubbornly and murmurs in his mouth, pawing the ground as if in warning.

"What?" and he looks right at the severed body still rotting in the water.

"Oh…. _Oh no_." she groans and looks at him "_Really_?" he whines, ears flat against his skull and tail thumping the dirt.

"_oh __**fine**_." She murmurs and jabs his nose "You're helping."

The process of extricating the undead from the pool was simple enough… minus the uh—trailing entrails.

She nearly dove into the pool soon as they were done, just to wash off the cold fingers climbing up and down her back.

But a small heart shape in the sand caught her attention first.

"Marrow, look." She points, and he swings his head lazily over to look.

"Tracks." The word alone makes him _muff_ at her and pull himself up as dramatically as he had before. She taps his hindquarters with her boot.

"Lazy pup." She chides affectionately before following her dog to the lone track.

A second identical stood only a shoulders width away.

"This is where it landed." She looks back to the other side of the pool where they'd first lost the tracks, and can't help her jaw dropping in awe.

The stag _jumped_ the entire pool, a fair feat even amongst its own kind.

"I don't know about you" she looks down to Marrow happily lolling his tongue "But I want to meet this creature."

Marrow ignores her, returning to his task of tracking the scent, snuffling the tracks in the sand, sneezing once he got the scent.

He circles the tracks in an ever widening path, paws kicking up the sand as he searches for the direction of the trail.

She waits, measuring the distance of the pool with her eyes then looking over the sandy bank, searching for distant hoof prints in case the stag had made another extravagant jump.

She purses her lips and glances towards the caverns when she sees no prints along the bank, and spots a white scar on some of the entrance rocks.

Perhaps from a sharp landing.

"Marrow, come." She clicks her tongue and for a moment the Sylvan hound ignores her, snuffing the sand and the air.

She lets him, walking cautiously to the caverns and peering inside.

She could see a waterfall inside, a small one, about 20 meters in, and a glowing blue creek cutting the caverns in half, disappearing around the corner.

The soft blue caustics reflecting off the surface of the water lights the cavern, shimmering along the walls and ceiling.

If there was any refuge from a hot summer day, this would be it.

"Marrow." She whispers.

There is something wrong with the place, throwing caution to the wind would certainly be inviting chaos.

She crouches next to the white _scrabbed_ marks in the blue stone at the mouth of the cave. White scars scratched into the surface, two parallel lines, and another pair at shoulder's length distance.

It is possible the stag came through here.

She hears a distance _mrrwuff_. She pulls herself up to see her foolish dog prodding his nose into a wall of roots inside the entrance of the cave.

"_Marrow_." She hisses.

He ignores her.

She smiles and rolls her eyes, "_Marrow_, blasted dog, you're-" she _screams_.

Marrow spins around at the sound of his master's distress, hackles raising and teeth bared.

Cold clammy fingers snatch at her feet, the ground shifting beneath her when the arm shot out to grab at her, nails biting into her skin, golden sap oozing from the wound.

She swings her sword in a panicked frenzy, slicing the arm off at the middle, blood black as oil splattering against the sand.

She can't help the squeal when the hand doesn't let go.

"_D_a_m_m_i_t." She purses her lips, breaking one finger after the other to make it let go, _pop, crack,_ each sound makes her flinch.

The stump left in the sand flails for a second, blue veins audibly _thrumming_, before dying out, the stump going limp.

The hand drops off her leg but she doesn't have time to investigate the wound when Marrow barks angrily.

She looks up to see a norn.

Pale as the others, blue and black and _soggy_, dripping oil black hair carelessly in front of its eyes and great maul slung over its shoulder.

A human mage slinks behind it, skirts and feet dragging in the sand and scrabbling the stone for purchase as if both its ankles were broken.

She can see behind them, other forms of movement, the cavern _infested_ with undead.

If the stag was here, it's gone now.

"M-Marrow." She swallows, her voice trembling "L-let's go." She couldn't take them all on, not on her own. And her leg _hurt_, she couldn't come out of that cavern unscathed.

The norn shuffled its way towards her, Marrow skirting it to return to Abhari, he almost made it too, until something makes his ears swivel and causes him to spin around, looking around in surprise.

"D-dangit M-marrow." She swallows "Let's _go_." But he snarls, facing the norn as if it weren't two times her height and four times his.

She curses.

Of all the adventure loving, _stubborn_ dogs, she ends up with-

"Hello? Is someone—" That's when she hears it, the dying voice bouncing off the cavern walls.

"P-please—_help_." Her heart flutters, she grits her teeth and tucks the pain in her leg away to the back of her mind.

"Alright Marrow." She takes out her bow, knocking an arrow in and aiming.

"_Sic em'_." Her arrow snaps, plunging into the kneecap of the norn.

It yowls, crumpling to one knee, screams turning to angry snarls. Marrow lunges, landing on the norn's chest like the first minion, but doesn't make a clean get away.

The norn's great hand swipes at Marrow when he jumps away, clipping his hip mid-air.

The crash into the ground is not graceful and her dog yelps.

That is enough to turn her veins ice with fury.

"Don't touch my **dog**." She lets loose another arrow, plunging into the norn's hand, pinning it to the sand just inches from reaching the dazed dog.  
The norn screams, its voice gargled "_TO ME!_" and the human mage suddenly stiffens to attention and whirls around from its aimless wandering.

It screams, a gurgled _horrid_ thing and charges, hands lighting with magic.

Abhari tucks her shoulder and lunges to the ground, rolling to dodge the ice spike that flew from the mages hands.

"_Marrow_" she shouts, remembering her training both in and out of the Dream.

The dog shakes himself out of his daze and goes for the mage.

He runs by it, biting the mage's ankle and with a horrid _snap_, breaks the leg off at the knee. Bits of pale skin sheds from the dismembered limb, and the scream stretches the skin of the cheeks clean off, down to the tendons and raw muscle turned ice blue.

The arrow through its eye stops the scream and the body drops, lifeless once again.

But the norn is back on its feet, swinging the maul with all its weight, giving a roar of pure _rage_.

She doesn't dodge it.

It hits her square in the shoulder just as she lets off a frightened arrow, her fingers trembling the fletching and she hopes it flies true.

The arrow pierces the underside of the jaw, pinning the jaw closed, the arrowhead exiting out the top of the skull.

The norn moans and sways, dropping forwards.

"Oh no_no__**no**__**no**_." She squeaks and lunges to the side, hands hitting the sand, she tumbles away from the loud _fwump_ of the dead weight norn.

She twists on her hands, scrambling to knock another arrow aimed at the norn.

She breathes relief when it doesn't move.

"Thank the Dream." She sighs and replaces her arrow into the quiver at her hip.

Marrow doesn't comfort her.

He's already slinking into the caverns.

"_Marrow_." She scrambles to her feet and goes after him, grabbing his scruff "Stay with me you silly dog." She mutters to him.

He ignores her like she wasn't the one who just saved his hide.

She huffs "Suit yourself."

Together they crouch along the walls of the cavern, skirting the undead glowing green.

Those were the kind to blow themselves up if you got to close, poisoning the air with their rotting stench, and she'd rather not be covered more in pale bits of flesh and blood thick as mud and absolutely _impossible_ to get the stains out.

Though at this rate, she was sure she would need at least a new tunic, and a very long, very _hot_ bath.

"—Is someone there?" The voice asks again.

She freezes when the undead swivel their heads, searching the caverns for the voice that bounces off the walls.

One of them jerks too hard and its spine _snaps_, it flails for a bit before righting its head with a _crack_ and continues dragging its feet along in the mud.

Marrow shudders for her on that one.

"I'm over here." The voice whispers this time, realizing its mistake in calling out.

"_please-_"

"I'm here." She whispers and the voice quiets.

The caverns echo every sound, the moans of the undead shuffling their feet reaching the high ceilings. She thanks the Pale Tree that the ground has turned to moss and sand and ferns sprout along the creek bed, dulling her and Marrow's steps.

It's a careful process, skirting the undead and making it to the corner where the creek disappears behind, but she and Marrow manage to get by unannounced.

When she turns the corner she sees the ceiling widen and shoot up, creating a dome of sharp rocks, stalagtites filtering water that _drip-drops_ in to the shallow pool below. Sun filters from a few holes in the ceiling and the blue glow of the water creates enough light for her to see.

A burned out skeleton of a ship sits on its side, looking like ribs of a great whale sprouting out of the ground. A sputtering fire pit still smokes in the center, gray wisps coiling from the ashes.

Her heart flutters when she sees hoof tracks.

The stag _was_ here, and in her excitement she nearly misses the chainmail boot lying limp in the shadows of the skeleton.

Or the laughing green eyes watching her.

She blushes, tucking her ear in nervous habit.

"I—uh… are you alright?" She asks, crouching in the shadows with the sylvari.

He's favoring his right side, arm gripping his stomach, black drops splattered across his brass and red chainmail.

But he smiles, trying his best to hide the pain and fear in his eyes; it quickly turns into a grimace.

"I will be." He mutters, pushing his free arm into the sand and crying out, her hand shoots out to muffle the sound.

"What are you _doing?_" she hisses, looking up over her shoulder to make sure no undead were heading their way.

She turns back to see him giving her a look, her face flushes and she drops her hand from his mouth.

"Ah, sorry."

"I was _trying_ to get up." He seethes and curses under his breath.

"Hold still." She touches his arm, pulling it away to see a gash in his armor, leafy green skin peeled back and slowly oozing gold sap glistening in the blue light.

"I'm not a healer but-" she touches the wound and wills the small amount of nature magic she has into the wound.

She hears the sparkling of her healing spring, chiming with crystal droplets, the cool feel of water pooling down her arm and into the wound.

It doesn't close up the garish wound, but it does stop the bleeding

"That should help." She helps him first to his knee, then to his feet.

She lets go and he wobbles, but manages to stay on his feet.

"Thank you, sapling." She blushes.

"Am I that easy?"

He smiles "You have a…. spriteness, about you, that I've only seen in saplings."

She tucks her ear again nervously.

"Uhm… I'm Abhari-" he stops her with a laugh.

"I think this is hardly the time for introductions." And she _blushes_.

_**Again**_.

"….Right, sorry."

He scowls and looks past her, still gripping his stomach.

"Your dog-" she whirls around to see Marrow sniffing and burrowing at a sand mound.

"MARROW!" she barks but the mound stirs in activity before she can warn her fool dog away.

The undead grub bursts from the sand, snapping at Marrow, its round orifice ringed with several rows of sharp drooling teeth.

Between her shout and Marrow's bark, the undead nearby twist to see them, some so quick they break their hips and drop to the water, gargling and dragging themselves forward.

"_kiiillll" _The undead chant, slithering from their broken voices and poisoning her confidence.

"Dammit." The chainmail sylvari grumbles and grabs his mace from his hip.

"I hope you can fight, sapling."

She doesn't trust her voice to reply with an _ounce_ of bravery.

The little box in her throat would barely let her squeak.

The grub on the other hand, squealed with pain, curling in on itself where a large chunk of its body was missing. Marrow stumbling back, hacking the grub out his mouth, a charr's hammer smashing into the sand next to him making him jump back in surprise.

She shouts, but forms no words, just a cry of anxiety.

Her arrow shoots into the charr's neck, but it ignores it like the prick of a mosquito, raising its hammer over the dog again.

But the hammer wouldn't make another smash down.

The chainmail sylvari slides in front of Marrow, lifting his shield and shouting, a blue dome encircling him and the hound, blasting the charr back, tumbling into the water.

She flinches when its back _cracks_ at the force of the throw.

The sylvari turns back to her pale face flushed of color.

"Are you going to _stare_ or are you going to **fight**?" He snarls and she starts.

"Right." She doesn't have time to blush like the sapling she is, instead, she aims her arrows, and pin cushions as many undead as she can.

She's never fought beside a Guardian before, and she can't help but find it relieving.

He shoulders the brunt of the attacks, drawing attention to himself, keeping the enemies off of her so she can stay at range.

Following behind him, she has time to rip her arrows from the corpses they sunder and reuse them, shooting through kneecaps and eyes, avoiding the black spittle as Marrow fells his targets just as soon as the sylvari's mace or her arrows do.

The fight to make it outside the cavern is arduous, more than once she shoots down a charging asura intent on blowing itself up, just as the guardian knocks back low hammer blows sure to crush her skull if given the chance.

The light of the afternoon sun is dying by the time she is able to drop into the pool outside.

"_Thorns_, that was tough." She mumbles, lying in the pool on her stomach, face tilted for air.

She closes her eyes for a moment of calm, when she opens them the guardian is smiling at her.

She's sure her cheeks turn dark, "Uhm… the water is cool."

He shakes his head, and eases himself down to the ground, grimacing as he goes.

"Your wound-" she pushes herself up but he waves her off "I'll be fine, I need only rest a moment before I return to my hunt."

She scoffs "Are you _serious_?" he gives her a look and she ducks her head.

By the Mother that was a stupid thing to say.

"I must, my quest is greater than my health. If I fail, the consequences will be dire."

"Your quest won't go very far with you dead." She mutters, blushes when he gives her a look.

She sighs.

_Thistles _she was making a fool of herself.

"I… uhm… maybe I can help?" She stammers, "I'm… I myself am on a quest. After the white stag."

He brightens, "We have the same goal, sapling."

"Abhari." He stares "M-my name is Abhari."

"Gavin." She takes his hand when he offers it, stumbling at the pull but managing to help him to his feet.

"And… maybe you are right. I must rest to succeed in my quest." He smiles charmingly at her. "May we hunt together? You are an accomplished tracker for one so young, after all, you found me."

She tucks her ear "Uhm…Marrow helped." The dog _whuffs_ happily.

"Yes, helped to bring a battalion of undead upon us." He banters.

The glare she gives the Sylvan is not cold enough.

And he completely ignores it.

Gavin laughs, and winces, gripping his side "You two are quite the pair." He breathes.

She softens, and grips his shoulder "Caer Verdant is not far, there should be a healer for you."

He sees the black bruise stretching from her shoulder the size of a norn's maul.

"You as well." She starts and looks, sees the black peeling bark, and remembers the biting wound in her leg.

"I—uhm, don't feel a thing."

"Humans call it adrenaline."

"…ah."

"Trust me, you'll be feeling it bad as I soon."

And as it would turn out, it was half way to Caer Verdant when she resorted to field dressing her leg if just to _squeeze_ the pain out of it, massaging her bruised shoulder and mumbling under her breath.

"_Should've dodged that hammer_."

Gavin smiles and shakes his head, loose pollen falling from his sprigs.

"You can't parry every attack, sometimes you need to take them to get your perfect strike." She crinkles her nose.

"You have a _shield_, Gavin, that is cheap advice from a soldier." But she laughs, eyes shining at the sight of the stars appearing in the purple ether of dusk.

Gavin notices, connecting the dots soon enough and with a chuckle, points out "Your time is coming, isn't it, Abhari?" She turns to him and smiles.

"It is." He gestures to a pattern of stars, just arriving from the gold horizon, above the vast jungle canopy.

"What are those?"

And oh how she _feels_ the pride swell in her chest.

"Those are the fangs of the viper."

"Where's the rest of him?"

"The sun still has him."

"Ah." Gavin smiles and points again above the watch tower of Caer Verdant getting closer as they came to the foot of its hill.

She grimaces at the throbbing in her shoulder but analyzes the constellation over the twisting root tower where a Warden looks down on them and announces their approach.

"That one is the Hunter's companion."

"A dog?"

"A hawk."

He squints his eyes at the stars "Oh… oh I see it." She touches his shoulder, leaning her head next to his and pointing from his point of view.

"You can see the wings, those three stars." He nods.

"To the norn it's the great Owl, the one vanquished by Jormag."

He shakes his head "How do you know all this?"

She shrugs "Most of it I seem to remember from my Dream. Malomedies has taught me some."

They're within the firelight of the watchtower, blinding the stars from sight, but she points to one of the brightest ones.

"That's the eye of the west wind."

"Ah, the zephyrs?"

"Right."

"And that's-" she stop and ducks her head, cheeks burning furiously when one of the wardens clears his throat.

"I'm guessing you're here for more than stargazing."

Gavin smirks at his companion and addresses the warden "We could do with some healing."

The warden's eyes widen the slightest in understanding and notices where Gavin holds his arm close to his stomach.

"Is it serious?"

"I suspect it will be if left over night." The warden nods and retreats to retrieve one of their menders.

"Gavin," she starts quietly, feeling the burn in her ears "I'm sorry. I got a bit… _carried_ away there."

"Abhari, I enjoy listening." He smiles warmly at her "You night blooms are usually so quiet and secretive, and I've always been curious about the stars."

"Ah… well… glad I could be of service."

"Plus, it's distracting."

She knits her brow, confused, "Distracting….?" Then her eyes widen as if remembering just how bad of shape he was in.

"Oh! Right! Gavin, I'm sorry. I'm over here dawdling and you need healing-"

He laughs though it pulls at his wound "So do you, sapling, if you don't remember?" he taps her bruised shoulder.

Marrow growls for her, making the guardian throw his hands up in defense.

"It was in jest!" he laughs when the dog grumbles at him and stalks away, nose held high.

"Your dog is peculiar."

She finds herself tucking her ear in embarrassment.

"He means well."

"Yes, if you consider unleashing an undead assault 'meaning well'." She jabs him just in time for the mender to see, the sylvari woman screeching.

"I don't need wounds stretched beyond repair!" Abhari flushes, turning her face away shyly.

"Do not be so hard on the sapling, Wyieth." She can hear the mender huff "Fine." Grabbing Abhari's wrist with an ice cold grip.

"Let me take a look at you." Her skin is freezing to the touch, shining white against the torches and when Abhari meets her wilting brown eyes she feels a root in her stomach pull tight.

"H-hello." The elementalist lifts a brow at her and looks at Gavin who just shakes his head.

"Hello." Wyieth's voice is dry as tinder, the sound Marrow makes clawing into wood or against rock.

"…Hello." Gavin _bursts_ laughing "Wyieth! You've dazed the poor bloom." Abhari flushes, looking away from the two of them.

Wyieth just smiles crookedly, before smoothing her cold hand over Abhari's shoulder, and the sensation of sharp icy fangs sinking into every pore made her stiffen.

And when the pale sylvari reaches for her leg she jerks back.

"N-no, I'm f-fine." Her shoulder felt miraculously better but this… this _healing_ didn't feel right.

"Nonsense, your dressing is bleeding through already." She, shocked, looks down in time to see Wyieth's hand flash in white and blue attunement and presses her palm into the moon shaped wounds dug deep in her calf.

She seethes, the ice crippling her leg from the knee down, lurching to grab Gavin's shoulder for support.

"_Abhari_." He says, laughing "She's a **mender**, not a necromancer."

"I-I know, it's just—" _so cold._

She does not voice her thought.

"Good enough." Wyieth stands and immediately goes to Gavin who opens his arm to her, letting her heal the gash in his stomach and minor scratches in his arms.

Abhari watches, and notices he does not flinch.

She'd never had occasion to be healed, maybe this was how it felt in the hands of an elementalist?

She preferred her own nature magic or Marrow's regeneration. It was at least familiar, not Wyieth's foreign claws of water and ice.

"You two should rest for the night, we'll set the fire." Wyieth turns away and calls out to one of the wardens to put together a small campsite for Abhari and Gavin.

She watched Wyieth go, her short golden leaves and fronds on her head were dappled brown as if wilting.

"Abhari?" She starts and looks wide eyed at Gavin "Are you alright?"

She smiles "Now I am." She lies.

"Come," he takes her hand and leads her to the edge of the cliff the Verdant sits on, standing at the end of the torch light where the warmth is at their backs and the cold nip in the night air becomes evident.

She welcomes it.

This cold is familiar.

It is the night, it is home and she remembers the first time she opened her eyes not two weeks ago and saw the same stars over her head.

"Will you show me more stars?" he asks, pointing at another cluster of stars.

She snorts "Those aren't anything… not yet." He turns a darker shade of green.

"I feel… hrm… _uncertain_, at night. I want to know more but it is rare to find one so versed in midnight."

She smiles though her mind still scratches at the fangs still digging in her shoulder and leg.

"I'm at a disadvantage too, Gavin. I know nothing of dusk." He smiles "Am I that easy to tell?" he asks.

She ducks "Uhm, you—you're curious, I feel like a puzzle when you ask me these questions." He beams "You make a good puzzle Abhari."

"….thanks?" she has to stop herself from tucking her ear nervously.

"I'm afraid there isn't much to tell about dusk. We do not have many secrets, no stars to guide our way." He shrugs "we're the transition from noon to night, before dark. Some call us philosophers, I simply enjoy learning and understanding the world."

"Gavin!" they both look to see Wyieth gesturing, pointing to a small fire set for them on the edge of the Verdant, away from the other wardens, for privacy.

"Your fire's ready."

He lifts his arm in thanks and turns to Abhari "We'll need to rest if we're to continue our hunt in the morning."

She nods and follows him across the Caer, glancing up at the stars that disappear as she adjusts to the fire light.

She finds herself missing them already.

But she sits across from Gavin at the fire, Marrow helping himself to her lap, resting his muzzle on her knee and sighing, exhausted.

"Thank you, Gavin." He starts from his own stargazing, meeting her bluebell eyes with his ivy.

"For what?" he asks with a smile.

She shrugs, smoothing Marrow's foliage down, "For asking, I've found many who are curious but never voice themselves. It's… different… talking."

He grins "Just talking?"

She nods "Yeah, I'm still getting used to my voice and I'm surprised so many do not use theirs." "It's a polite world. To ask is to intrude." She smiles "So you're intruding?" he turns a shade darker.

"No! Abhari-" she laughs and he flicks a twig at her "You are sly, sapling, perhaps you truly are a night bloom."

She gives him a sincere smile, but she tucks her thoughts behind her eyes.

_Sometimes I do not feel like it._


	3. Dreamer's Terrace

This chapter is super short, more like a train of thought and descriptive piece... so I'll post chapter 4 later tonight. :)

* * *

**Chapter 3: Dreamer's Terrace**

___"There was a time that I cursed this world for taking away everything that I had. _

___But living here, I have come to understand that these memories, even those that are painful, are seeds of our identity. _

___They shape our growth."_ - Ronan

* * *

She stands there trembling, digging her nails into her palms and willing her shoulders to stay as still as possible.

"I-I'm sorry Mother… I guess I'm just n-not ready." She chokes.

She tries to be brave.

She _tries_ so very hard to believe that what she did was right, but she can't believe a lie.

The Pale Tree smiles sadly at her daughter, wiping away the tears on her cheeks, her warm white skin in drastic contrast to Abhari's darkness.

"Of course, dear heart." Her voice soothes her daughter's shoulders still, calming her trembling lips which she tries to purse shut.

"Take your time to heal. Your wounds are still fresh, go and rest, we will speak more when you are ready."

She half bows again, grateful, and turns on her heel to walk stiffly away, trying to maintain a shred of normalcy to make it all the way to her terrace on Ronan's bower.

Caithe makes a grab for her "Abhari-" but Malomedies grip snatches Caithe's wrist, making the firstborn twist to glare at him.

But he meets her fiery gaze with a steely one of his own.

Abhari is one of his, she's hurt, and Caithe is the problem.

"Now is not the time to prove your point, Caithe." He warns "She needs time alone."

She narrows her eyes but digresses, lowering her arm, Malomedies releasing her wrist.

Satisfied, he turns his attention to the avatar of the Pale Tree "Mother…"

Abhari had hoped to make a clean get away, hands balled into fists digging crescent moons into her bark; she just wants out.

But little Pema has different plans.

Abhari claps her hand over her mouth to stop a strangled cry when the little pup gallops towards her when she approaches.

"N-no Pema." She crouches to scratch the pup behind her ear, the hound taking her chance to roll onto her back, paws swatting at Abhari's hand.

She laughs weakly, "_Pema_, you c-can't come with me. Marrow would just get jealous." She smiles when the little one cocks her head, tongue lolling happily.

Abhari picks her up, twisting to face her towards Parroen "Go on." And she shoves her towards her pod mates.

The pup _yips_ and jumps to her feet, clumsily running to her brothers and sisters.

Abhari smiles and looks up to Parroen watching her.

He gives her a sad little smile she returns with a thin one, eyes burning.

"I'll be alright." Her voice doesn't carry to him, its hoarse and barely a whisper, but he nods and returns his attention to his charges.

Marrow does not greet her at the bottom of the magical channels carrying the pod down to the chiming bells of the plaza.

She does not wait for him, couldn't if she tried. The Upper Commons flickers with the same warm light as the Omphalos Chamber, glistening in the sun. Spiraling roots gracefully curl from the ceiling, spawning the calla lily bells that gently chime in the wind. The roots frame the porcelain pearl floor of the plaza, crisp blue and purple as an abalone shell, carved into spirals and glowing blue orbs inset into the earth.

Any other day, this plaza would be beautiful.

But it is no place to mourn.

Crisp wet grass is chilly against her feet, fire colored trees and a shop made out of a pumpkin across the commons smiles warmly with the promise of good food and good company.

The blue glowing lights like stained windows are the first things travelers see coming from the asura gate to visit the great sylvari city. Low fences made of ivy and sprigs coaxed into a certain twist or turn by the Grove's talented shapers.

Everything is complex and bright.

Even the natives are fascinating to the passing human or norn.

Garradoir with his grand branches leafing green today. He will be the first to greet the travelers. He is a funny sort, soon as he'd see someone new he'd run and ask about the world outside. Traveler's would be taken aback at his enthusiasm, and she'd seen more than the stray asura cringe at his eagerness.

Today she can't understand his joy.

She ducks into the spiraling helix before he has a chance to spot her.

The slope leads her to Reckoner's Terrace, where flickering blue and green lights pour from the roots in the ceiling, fading before they hit the ground. But today she doesn't stay to admire the wall of lilac and powder blue flowers along the helix.

Today she will ignore the jovial calls of the crafters, and Bannach's wild tales from far away places.

Today she just wants to find a dark place and mourn.

She will walk to the Ronan Bower where the sun barely reaches the deep pools of turquoise water, and all the light in the softest shades of pink, blue, and green. She will find the glowing lanterns made of blossoms that light the paths that stretch and curve in every direction.

One to Dawn's Garden. Another to Dusk and Day, and the Night garden cast in cool shadows.

But she will turn to the Dreamer's Terrace, step into her home garden and maybe, just maybe, she'll find peace.


	4. Oranges and Cherries

And here's chapter 4, please read and review, any comments would be amazing, the good, the bad, etc. Chapter 5 next Friday.

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**Chapter 4: Oranges and Cherries**

_You'll never know as much as you knew when you knew nothing._

* * *

"How do you know those other hunters?" asks Abhari, aimlessly peeling a fruit by the fire.

Gavin had tossed it to her when they set up camp, called it an 'orange'.

She'd asked if the fruit or the color came first.

He'd started, surprised "Uhm…. I have no idea." And laughed.

They'd been tracking the stag for a little over a week, following its trail up through Morgan's spiral all the way to Glencarrn Sperrins when they caught first sight of it.

It had taken her breath away.

Shining white coat like a beacon in the sunlight, antlers like branches of ivory and hooves of pearl.

He was a handsome creature to be sure.

On closer inspection, she'd been able to see swirling patterns carved in his antlers, like the curling sprigs and vines around Caledon, dripping in frosty dew every morning. She envied the person whom he trusted enough to carve such intricate designs.

Gavin had let her approach it, moving silently from shadow to shadow, he trusted her to be quiet, after all, it was his heavy armor that had startled the creature off when he'd first run into it in the Grenbrack cavern.

Or maybe it was the stench of undead that spooked it.

Either way, he didn't want to take any chances.

She had gotten close enough to see the designs when the stag lurched, whipping his head up from his grazing, ears erect and eyes wide, searching. She froze in place, senses on edge.

She hadn't been the one to alert him, she was sure enough at that.

And that was when the other hunters came, a sylvari woman of birch skin, black scarring across her bark and a head that looked a bit like a pine cone.

She suddenly didn't mind her head of thorns.

The woman had jumped at the sight of the stag, pointed and yelled "There it is!"

One of her companions shot a net from his rifle, heavy stone weights meant to wrap around and strangle its prey.

Marrow had jumped into its path, taking the net down before it could reach the stag.

The sound of his strangled cry had her arrows trained on the other hunters, her prey gone with the white sylvari's blatant shout. In the back of her mind she heard the stag bolt, a splash of water and the canter of hooves on rock then packed earth, and he was gone.

"Sariel!" Gavin ran from his hiding spot, grabbing the sylvari though she wrenched her arm from his grip with a hiss as if his touch was poisonous.

"Gavin! You cost me the stag," the woman's eyes flashed to Abhari when she stepped out of the shadows. The sylvari's dark green eyes remind her of the marsh infected with undead. She pointed a ghostly pale finger at Abhari, "Your _pet_ got in the way."

Gavin grabbed her arm again and pulled her away. Abhari could hear him shout at the sylvari but not the words, it was his matter and she had Marrow to tend to. She cut the net free of her dog, touching his bruises with the healing magic she'd learned from another ranger at the Verdant. He was on his feet without a care in the world in an instant and already prancing off to get himself, and consequently, her, into trouble.

The engineer scowled at her when she tossed him his shredded net, but she smiled, lips pursed thin and eyes narrowed.

Gavin told her that that smile was contempt.

"You basically laughed him off."

"Oh… was that wrong?"

He choked on his water, snorting "No! You were justified, Abhari." He chuckled, wiping his mouth "I'd have done more but you handled yourself well."

When Gavin was done telling off the sylvari, Sariel, the stag was long gone and they began their arduous task of tracking in the dying light.

Thus, their humble campsite in the grassy knoll between Caer Verdant and Sleive's Inlet, essentially where they started.

The marsh sounds were crickets tonight, the constant _chrrrrrrr_ buzzing in the back of her consciousness where she was expectantly listening for the moans and groans of undead.

The area was known for its infestation of the walking departed and she was surprised that the stag had fled this way.

But this pool of mud and high arcing roots, cliffs and rocks covered in spores, was where the tracks led, so they followed.

Marrow was laying on his side by the fire, twitching and _shnuff_ling in his sleep.

She reached over and slapped his paw amiably, smirking when he didn't wake from his dreams.

Gavin's smile is brief when she looks up at him, waiting for an answer.

He sighs and murmurs "Ah, _Sariel_." He said the name with… not disgust or distaste, more… impatience.

"She runs you thin, doesn't she?"

He smiles at her "You are learning fast, sapling."

She blushes and ducks her head.

Fresh from the pod, she didn't know much about body language or inflection. This week with Gavin had taught her much.

"She is…" he considers for a moment "brash, young and hot-headed…" another pause, pursing his lips "…her pride will be her downfall."

"What will be mine?" she asks without thought and he chokes on his water again.

Her ears _burn_, she didn't know the sap in her veins could burn so hot, and she feels her cheeks and neck flush with warmth when he gives her an astonished look.

But then he smiles and laughs "Abhari, you're turning into a black cherry." That does not help the color in her cheeks.

"Cherry?" she asks shyly, wringing her wrists, "I-I've heard people describe me like one but… I've never seen one." He gains a catty smirk.

"Here." He digs in his pack, and tosses her his prize.

She catches it over the fire, it is a small thing, purple tint to the rich dark red, skin polished to a brilliant shine in the flickering light of their humble fire.

"It's a fruit, like that orange." He gestures to the half peeled citrus in her lap.

"But its got a pit, like a peach. You can eat it, just don't swallow the pit… or the stem." He adds when she opens her mouth to pop the cherry in.

She blushes and removes the stem, throwing the fruit into her mouth, rolling the cherry from cheek to cheek before biting in.

She winces when her teeth hit the hard pit he'd warned her about.

He _snirks_ at that but doesn't comment.

When she swallows the cherry and spits the pit she cringes at the bitter taste.

She covers it with a hasty bite into the orange. The juices burst in her mouth surprisingly and she lurches forward to catch the drops dribbling down her chin with her hand.

Gavin _laughs _until there are tears in his eyes "Ah, I'd forgotten what it is like to be young and new to the world." She's too busy wiping away the juices and sucking the flavor off her fingers to blush.

"How old are you, Gavin?" she asks curiously, trying to imagine _him_ as a sapling fresh from the pod… she can't.

His eyes fade to a memory "Ah… nine years I think, feels like centuries though."

"Hmm." She doesn't ask to elaborate.

She'd met other sylvari like Gavin. The years evident on their face, Malomedies most of all. Being firstborn he was twenty-five, but sometimes he reminded her of a human she'd met who told her he was forty.

She didn't want to turn out like that, she wants to stay young and curious forever, though she supposes that is a naïve thing to say. Naïve is better than worn and tired, right?

"I never want to stop wondering, Gavin." She picks at the remainder of the orange peel shyly, glancing up when he doesn't reply.

He is watching her, she can see the sadness in his eyes but the crinkle of a smile at the corners.

"You don't have to, Abhari, you can wonder for as long as you like."

"Then why don't you?"

He _sighs_, and doesn't reply for a long time.

There is only the crackling of wood between them, the occasional _hisssss_ when the lapping tongues of the fire strike a damp core of wood before burning out the water hungrily.

She wonders if she has asked him a bad question again, but the silence says it is too late to take it back.

Finally, he hikes up his shoulders in a shrug "I guess… I guess I let the world get to me. It is tough, out here in Tyria. I remember the Dream, soft and warm, I did not feel this… _hardness_ when I was asleep, and I was… unprepared." He looks up at her from his gaze into the heart of the fire, his eyes are shining, they make her shiver.

"Don't get caught unawares, sapling." He swallows as though it is hard to say "Expect the wounds and they will not sting so much."

She has nothing to say to that, so she doesn't, fiddling with the discarded cherry stem and debating another bite of the orange.

"Give me that." She's startled when he speaks up, snapping her head up to see his hand outstretched.

"The cherry stem," he beckons and she shyly hands him the stem.

"A human taught me this. You can tie it into a knot like this." Her eyes widen when he pops the stem into his mouth.

She can see his tongue against his cheeks, focus knitting his brow. After a moment, he stick out his tongue to reveal a loosely tied knot in the stem.

She laughs and claps her hands, he smiles, pleased.

Then she hands him the orange.

"Can you do anything with this?"

"Uhm… let me try." He peels a slice off, she's surprised when it comes off in a perfect wedge.

He too pops that in his mouth, turns it around and smiles and she _laughs_, covering her mouth when she guffaws and tears leap to her eyes.

"Gavin!" The orange slice covers his teeth and his mouth forms against the shape of the wedge, making a beaming grin that makes her stomach hurt.

"Where did you learn _that_?" she wipes the tears away, breathing hard but unable to regret the pain in her lungs.

He swallows the wedge, humming with the sweet taste.

"Just now, seemed an obvious thing to do." She takes the orange and peels a slice herself, fitting the wedge against her teeth and smiles.

"_Hwrr d'I looork_?" she asks and he covers his mouth, keeping his laugh down his throat.

"_Stunning_, Abhari, you look absolutely _**marvelous**_." She's pretty sure its sarcasm, but the blush comes to her face anyway and she ducks as she swallows the wedge.

The silence that falls on them isn't uncomfortable, between the crickets, the sound of the forest, crackle of the fire and the gentle sighs from Marrow, it is content.

She picks at the orange, nibbling on the individual wedges and deciding it is her favorite fruit thus far, though she supposes she has many to try before she can say that for certain.

"Abhari?" She jumps and whips her head up, surprised at the sound and quickly going red… well, red_der_, when his lips pull thin in a smile.

"Thank you."

"Whatever for?" She tucks her ear, ignoring the tinge in her cheeks and brushing the dulled thorns close to her temple.

"You remind me what the world looks like. It seems time has a way of dullingyour sense of the beauty of it. I think I may have found the cure."

"And what is that?" She _tries_ to ignore the blush this time, she cannot blush like a newborn for all eternity...she hopes.

He laughs under his breath "A friend who sees the world for what it is, and not for what it is underneath."

She leans forward, elbow on her knee and head in her hand, brows knitting.

"But by the sound of it… I will see what is underneath someday, won't I?" And she sees his smile turn sad, just the slightest.

"Perhaps." He nods but doesn't elaborate.

She guesses she will just have to wait and see what the Dream has planned for her.

"Get some rest, Abhari. Tomorrow we will continue our hunt, the stag has nowhere to go."

The inlet is a shallow marsh with no way out beyond where they sit, and the Caer sits atop a small cliff with a spiraling path from their vantage point. If the stag tried to escape through here, they would catch it, or the wardens above would at least spot it and shout warning.

She stands to prepare her arrangements, throwing the orange peel into the fire, burning a sweet scent.

"You too Gavin, who else will wake me at the crack of dawn if you are not well rested?"

He snorts "I suspect your dog will. With a troop of angry drakes at that."

"He apologized for that." She smooths the ruff of Marrow's foliage.

He didn't actually. Once the drakes were dead or scared off, he plopped down on his stomach with a happy grin, begging for breakfast scraps.

"Doesn't make it any less so." Gavin says with a laugh in his throat, "Goodnight Abhari."

"Sweet dreams, Gavin."


	5. Firstborn Entitlement

Phew! Busy week, couldn't make post on Friday, so I'll post the next one tomorrow or Monday. Happy Day of the Doctor by the way! and Thanksgiving week for U.S. peeps.

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**Chapter 5: Firstborn Entitlement**

Dreamer's Terrace is by no means a small garden. The entrance is a wall of green with a white center bursting like the sun towards the edges, and it is certainly wide and tall enough for a jotun.

When she approaches, it opens like an iris, such a seamless and smooth action, a blink and the door is open, just a whisper of movement. She wonders briefly if anyone had walked into one, caught the plant by surprise.

The smile is there on her lips for just a moment, but fades as soon as it had come.

Tall grand archways lead to and from open air rooms, a training field covered in little blooming daisies, the ground worn to dust where warriors train against the swaying dummies. Spiraling ramps gradually climb to the second floor, the rims a shade darker than the purple mosaic inside. The floor is blue where she stands, graduating to green closer to the training field, teal towards the sound of flowing water, where there is a shallow pool and waterfalls of spring water pouring from above for the weary to relax under. Also where the gossips like to congregate.

A pale gold path leads out of the tiered structure to the neighboring one, which is blue from toe to top, the one over her head being a tint of magenta.

She knows the spiral ramps in both buildings lead to the gabled roofs, where bulbs were grown to accommodate those that lived in the garden, single room homes with open windows and quaint hammocks.

Hers is at the top of the blue, the farthest climb but the best view.

But the view she zones in on is the view looking back at her.

In the main commons there is an alcove, glowing golden and flourishing with vegetation, blooms and leafy bushes sporting blue and red berries, succulent and ripe for the picking, and a tree sapling blooming purple flowers with warm orange centers.

And in that alcove stands a stag of pure white fur, ragged, worn, but safe, and content, munching on the leafy greens given him in a woven reed basket.

Though by the look of it, he had finished the meal and moved on to the basket itself.

An antler was chipped, and his legs were splattered with mud and a weary gaze in his warm brown eyes.

He was tired, and the way his ears swiveled at the sight of her, he was grateful too.

Knowing this only makes her stomach drop and throat heavy.

But her heart twinges at the sight of the mud and disheveled clumps of fur, an inexperienced hand's try at returning the fur to its purest white.

She jumps when Marrow's wet nose nudges her palm, his bright green eyes watching her expectantly.

She smiles and shakes her head "Very well, you can have one too." She's already making her way to the alcove, stooping to pick up an empty gourd, heavy in her arms, and goes to the spring.

She hears the chattering voices of the Grove's gossips beneath the sound of the flowing water as she nears.

All three sylvari are gorgeous creatures, flowers and curling vines top their heads, smooth green leaf skin, one with deep blue tint staining her arms and legs as if she had stomped through a blueberry field.

The other Abhari admired for his bright pale yellow eyes, dandelion she called him, they never gave their names the few times she fell in conversation with them.

The third was a small petite thing, cranberry skin and dark eyes. She had the sharpest tongue of them all, finding the tiniest mole hill to make a mountain of, never mind the victim of her coarse words.

Their words were quick to bite, gossip of the day traveling fast, opinions and scathing reviews, up until Dandelion's eyes fell to her, kneeling at the pool to fill the gourd.

Voices dropped to whispers and she felt a chill crawl up her shoulder as the gossips quieted, as they do when the subject of their ire draws within earshot.

"_Spy of the court_." She heard.

"_Heart of ice…_"

"_Night bloom or __**Nightmare**_?"

And other colorful murmurs.

She tries her best to ignore them.

'_All things have a right to grow.'_ She recites, '_All things… including those little th-'_she bites her lip to stop her growing smile, surprised at her own colorful language.

Justified.

But colorful.

When she returns to the stag the basket is gone, she suspects the last of it being the grass he is gloriously munching on.

"Hey old boy." She greets, crouching at his feet to set the weighty gourd down, water _sloshing_, and some splashing outside on to the lush grass. Her fingers ache from the weight but she continues without complaint, reaching for a sponge of woven moss.

She dunks it into the gourd, the moss hungrily soaking up the water until it too becomes a weighty thing. She stands, tending first to the batches of matted fur, stuck together with sap and… what she hopes is not tar.

Judging by her resort to shear the fur off with a dagger instead of gently removing the black goo, it must be.

But he does not seem to mind, he does not shy from her touch and does not _mewl_ at her when she tugs at the tough bits.

But he does watch her.

A calm and ever-present gaze, analyzing and waiting, patient and grinding down her resolve at the same time.

After clearing his coat she finally snaps.

"_What_?" he flicks his ears and looks away from her, bending his neck to nibble a daisy. She sighs and covers her face, swallows the anger, swallows the threat of crying, and returns to her work, kneeling to wash off the mud.

"I'm… I'm sorry… I know I sh-shouldn't blame you," she bites her cheek when her lip starts to tremble.

"But I… I kind of do. I mean, if you'd never shown yourself, I'd have never had to kill him." He peers at her from beneath his antlers, she can see dark tear streaks in his fur at the corners of his eyes.

She rubs him behind the ears and he seems to appreciate that enough to remove his unnerving gaze from her.

"Though I suppose… I never would have met him either."

"Would that be so bad, sapling?" she whips her head up, surprise evident on her face, before it sours into a grimace.

"_Caithe_" she does not mean for icicles to practically escape her throat, aiming for Caithe's eyes.

Malomedies had warned her once about this feeling, '_Hate is one of the fastest falls to nightmare, sapling_' but right now, **hate** is all she has.

"Valiant, listen-" there was that term again. '_Valiant'_ as in of the Wyld Hunt. Called to a great destiny, that was all Caithe seemed to regard her as.

A means to a glorious, dragon rending end.

"I don't want to listen Caithe, not to you." She ignores the firstborn outright, returning to the mud staining Old Boy's legs.

But the thief would have none of it.

"_Abhari,_ for thorn's sake would you give me the courtesy of-"

Malomedies had also warned her of rage.

She throws the sponge on the ground, to her feet in a second and facing her fellow Night bloom, prodding her in the chest, backing Caithe away.

"No, I will not give you _any_ courtesy. You have been with me since _before_ the beginning, been watching my every move since the pod and you know what you've made me, Caithe? You've made me a _murderer_ and a **liar**."

Then her face hardens, swiping Abhari's hand away from her.

"You would have fallen to Faolain within _weeks_ if you did not deal with the problem directly."

"_Faolain_, there's that name again but you never tell me what it means."

"You don't need to know-"

"Of course not."

"-_not yet_." Caithe finishes, eyes narrowing to slits.

The air was positively _electric_ between them, fire burning in Caithe, and ice turning Abhari's heart solid.

"He was never your friend, Valiant, he was using you from the very beginning."

"I don't _care_. He was my best friend, my _first _and **only** friend, and I killed him. I _murdered_ him and then you had the **_gall_** to call it a **victory**?" Her voice is venom, acidic and sharp. She wants Caithe to _hurt_, if just for a moment.

"I don't know whether to jump into the darkness, or shove _you_ in **first**."

And she sees Caithe's face fall, and she knows she's struck something true, she doesn't know what, but it is enough for the firstborn's face to twist.

"I don't need your pity, Caithe."

Caithe, frustrated, opens her arms, gesturing wide, shaking her head, "Then what would you have of me, sapling?"

Abhari purses her lips, and notices the audience they've gathered, sylvari who live in the garden peering cautiously from the alcoves and corners, preparing to flee on a moment's notice.

She sighs and let's go of the tension riding her shoulders.

"Right now, I would have you leave." And without another word, Caithe turns around, and walks out of the terrace.

She hears a small whine, looking down to see Marrow push his muzzle into her hand, tail thumping the ground nervously.

"I'm sorry, boy." She kneels down to him, scratching his chin and behind the ears.

"You're my friend too, I should have clarified, I'm sorry." He nips at her hand, making her laugh, a strangled thing, but a laugh nonetheless.


	6. The Hounds and the Hunted

Generally each chapter will be a quest or so in game, some are so incredibly short, but this one tends to stretch into a good eleven pages, so enjoy!

Please review if you can! The more suggestions, comments, criticisms, etc. the better :)

* * *

**Chapter 6: The Hounds and the Hunted**

"Gavin! Gavin, look!" her voice is a hoarse whisper but she is _so_ excited.

She's crouched in the shadows of one of the many arching roots overhead, her leggings stained up to her knees in mud and some unfortunate undead goo.

They woke at the crack of dawn as per the normal for the duration of their hunting trip. With no unlucky surprises from Marrow, they'd been able to quickly begin their hunt, following tracks on the small islands of dry land in the marsh, some as far as fifteen meters apart, but they were closing in.

And now she was kneeling in the water, eyes wide as she watches a flicker of sunlight reflect off of something _white_.

Gavin kneels next to her, hand on her shoulder, she can feel his excitement and apprehension in his hand, it makes her heart leap, nervous.

"This is it." He whispers, she can hear the thrill in his voice.

"Are you ready, sapling?" she draws her bow, knocking an arrow and aiming, pulling the string taut.

"Ready."

She shoots with the tap of his finger on her back, the arrow _twhirrrrs _in the air before _tnk_, it sticks into the pliant wood of a root just over the flicker of light.

The stag _bolts_, running further into the marsh, hooves making loud splashes in the water in frantic escape.

Gavin laughs and claps her shoulder.

"Good shot, Abhari." She beams at the praise, preparing another arrow when they run after the fleeing beast.

She crouches when she sees it again, kneeling on a small sandy island.

She can see it for certain this time, white fur a tinge blue in the shadows where he grazes, nipping at the roots over his head.

Marrow whines excitedly but she smacks his nose "Shush." He huffs and drops onto his stomach, body _wagging_ with impatience.

Gavin's reassuring hand is on her shoulder again when he catches up, crouching next to her.

"He's wearing down," they can see the stag's knees wobble the slightest with flagging endurance, tired from the week's long chase.

She raises her bow, aiming once more, this time for the ground at the stag's hooves.

Her arms are shaking, she can't make a clean shot like this.

"Calm down, sapling." Gavin says with a gentle laugh.

He flattens his palm against the small of her back, whispering "_Breathe_."

"Maybe if you would stop laughing at me." She murmurs back to him and he snorts.

"You're a fine shot, Abhari, best sprout I'd ever seen with a bow."

"_Thanks_" but she does find her arms have stilled, and her fingers on the string are strong. She aims once more, breathes in, and lets the arrows fly loose.

_Thwirrrr—shkk!_

Her eyes widen when the arrow plunges into a pasty white hand that burst from the sand, aiming for the stag but crippled with the surprise arrow.

"_Thorns_." Gavin curses and stands, readying his mace and shield.

The stag is frozen, surprised at the undead growth, then head whipping around to the eerie moans of the undead closing in.

A horrid wet _scrreeeeaach_ broke from the darkness, a human with no arms running from the darkness of the marsh, lips peeled back and rotten teeth champing down.

It lunges for the stag, her arrow catches it in the head and it drops before it can tackle the thing.

Gavin is a flash of light, one moment he is behind her and next he is by the stag, blocking the heavy mallet of a charr.

"Abhari! The stag!" He yells, grimacing as he shoulders off the weight of the hammer, swinging his mace around to catch the charr in the head, half of its skull obliterated with the force, bits of bone flying.

But the stag is stuck, stock still and frozen in fear.

Up until her arrow hits the root next to its head and it starts, bolting, jumping clear of the scrabbling arms of the undead searching for a tasty meal.

"Follow it!" Gavin shouts, ramming a minion into a root with his shield, it practically exploding on contact.

"But-"

"I can handle this, keep after the stag!" she nods, and stuffs her fear to the back of her mind, calling to Marrow who had run in at the sign of danger, tearing the throat out of a fallen norn.

She runs after the stag, ducking the claws of a charr and shooting an errant arrow into the leg of another minion, making it collapse face first into the water.

She doesn't realize she's not breathing until the sounds of combat are far behind her. Her vision swoons and she leans on a root, wet moss cool against her skin, only the sounds of the marsh around her now.

Water drips from the roots, _splink, plink, plunk_, into the water below, sun filtered through the canopy of roots and cliffs.

She knows she is near the end of the marsh, where only a wall of cliffs will greet her, there is no way out but behind.

No way out for the stag either.

Marrow's gentle nudge gets her breathing straight again, and she brushes off her leathers, calming her panic.

"Gavin can handle it." She looks down to her dog who watches her expectantly, "The stag can't have gone far." His ears swivel up and he _whuffs_gently, nose in the air as he searches for the familiar scent of his prey.

She searches as well, finding telltale signs of the stags retreat, hoof prints in mud, a fern crushed under the weight of the beast, a clip in a root when the stag turned too sharp, his antlers catching the side and scraping off a layer of moss.

"Marrow," her voice is soft after a few minutes of tracking, afraid that her voice would break the silence of the marsh and alert the stag to her presence.

The dog trots up behind her, sniffing the air with trepidation.

"Did he go this way?" she asks, pointing down a row of roots and rocks jutting out of the water, covered in green spores.

He stands on his hind legs to paw at a root, sniffing it then dropping down into the water with nothing more than a small _splsh_. He was on the hunt, stalking through the water up to his elbows, nose in the air and ears erect to locate the smallest sound.

His ears flick forward and he glances back at his master, then back to the opening in the roots he's zoned in on.

She crouches, quietly moving past him and towards the small island in the sun, water glittering in ringlets from the soft droplets colliding with the surface from the height of the roots.

The stag is there, head drooping with exhaustion and legs trembling from fright. He is splattered with black mud, patches of fur missing where undead hands got lucky, but otherwise unscathed, emotionally scarred, but safe.

He looks up when she crosses from shadow to sunlight, ears swiveling lazily towards her and eyes blinking slowly.

"Poor boy." She stands, carefully approaching the stag.

He does not move, does not try to run, and doesn't flinch when she's close enough to smooth the fur on his neck.

She smiles when he nickers her outstretched palm.

"You're all tuckered out, huh? Can't say I've got enough energy to keep chasing you either." She smiles, reaching to brush dry moss from his antlers and neck.

Marrow _snuffles_ at the stag, ears pulled back when he lowers his head to look the dog in the eyes.

His big ears flick forward and back and Marrow _barks_, jumping back, mouth open wide and tail wagging.

Abhari laughs when he spins in a circle, jumping at the stag and back before prancing off, tail and head held high, barking happily at a hunt well done.

"_Quiet_." She laughs "You'll bring the undead." And with that, a black pit suddenly sprouted in her chest.

She didn't know what to call the feeling, but it made her hands heavy, throat thick and chest feel like it had been hollowed out.

Her skin prickled and every touch of the stag's bristly fur made her fingers hurt.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were _worried_ about me." She felt a flush crawl up her neck as she turned half way to look at him.

He was disheveled, breathing harder than normal and splattered with bits of undead but all in all, in one piece.

He stood in the shadows, leaning on a root and favoring his left leg.

Ah, _worry_, that was the black thing inside her.

"Looks like we can go home, I think you'll like it." She reaches to smooths the ruff on the stag's neck. But that pit remained in her stomach, _gnawing_ at her, she'd have to ask Gavin what it meant when they got back to the Grove.

She missed the gardens, the chiming bells in the main plaza and cool pools flickering blue and green light. Maybe it was homesickness? Caledon was certainly gorgeous in some areas, but dangerous, and she was tired, just wanted to lay in the shade of the Night garden for at least a week.

This part of her dream of dreams was over and she could use the rest.

"…Gavin," she turns, and suddenly stars burst in front of her eyes, blinding white. Something grabs her throat and she yells when her back hits the trunk of a root, splinters shattering off at impact.

Gavin gasps in pain and she blinks wildly, trying to remove the stars from her sight and the throbbing in her head.

She squints when her vision starts to clear, the hand on her throat squeezing just below her jaw, not choking her but certainly bruising.

She's surprised when she sees the darkness in his eyes, anger and contempt, her heart stammering, was his rage directed at her?

His grip tightens and she scrabbles at the root she's pinned to, trying to gain purchase with her feet off the ground, held up easily by the guardian.

She changes tactics and pulls at his hand.

"Gavin! Gavin, what are you doing?!" she doesn't know what's going on, was there something she missed? His hand is hot against her throat, fever? Is he delirious? She knew sylvari were immune to the taint of the undead but enough exposure and they could get sick.

"Gavin _please-_"

"I can't have you following me, Abhari." His voice is foreign.

It is dark and cold and makes her shudder.

"What do you mean? I-I don't understand." He smiles, a cruel sort, glancing when he hears Marrow's snarl.

He points at the charging dog and ghostly blue chains leap from the ground, wrapping around Marrow and throwing him to the floor.

"Marrow! Dammit, Gavin, let me go!" her nails dig into his skin, she can feel cool sap ooze underneath her fingers but he doesn't let go.

He squeezes her throat and she's afraid he'll kill her, right here in the Inlet where the undead will shred her body to pieces.

The two tears that escape her eyes is surprising, as is the sudden release that floods her lungs with air.

He takes a step back, she drops to the ground, knees hitting the dirt abruptly and her hand goes to her throat, coughing violently.

"I am sorry, sapling, but I am taking the stag. He will be a powerful tool for Nightmare." She looks up and sees the sadness in his eyes.

"The Nightmare court?" she woozily pulls herself to her feet, using the root for support.

"But Gavin… you aren't…. you can't be-" her eyes widen.

He laughs "I am, sapling, is that so hard to believe? You and your dream would paint me black but it is not so. I seek to free you from the influence of Ventari's tablet. The sylvari race cannot live in such blind optimism." He shakes his head "No, this creature will become a beast of despair and hatred by the court's hand." He reaches to grab the stag by the antler, steering the weary beast away. He does not fight.

Gavin's eyes light on her, and she sees them soften the slightest.

"Come with me, Abhari. You would be celebrated at the Court, possibly even knighted by the Grand Duchess herself!"

She shakes her head.

Her ears are ringing and her head is running in every direction but she knows _this_ at least, is wrong.

"N-no Gavin, I c-can't… I won't!"

So he _sighs_, looking away from her sadly.

"Then I wish it did not have to come to this, my friend. May you have luck in the mists."

"This? Gavin! Gavin I don't-" _want you to go_.

But he is suddenly gone in the shadows, the stag with him.

She whirls around, searching, and screams.

"Gavin! Gavin! _Dammit_," she spins at the sound of low growling, a thorn wolf stalking from the shadows.

She's surrounded.

She can hear them now, Sylvan hounds turned to darkness, filled with nothing but the fear of their masters, circling her, half a dozen at least.

She reaches for her sword though her hands tremble, and tears flow freely down her face.

She wonders if it would be alright to let them kill her.

Maybe then this confusion and pain would go away.

The Alpha wolf snaps at her, maw drooling with an appetite for sylvari, Marrow leaps in front of her and snaps back, hackles raised and lips drawn back doubt he is half the size of the Alpha.

"Guess it's just you and me boy." No, she couldn't die, not yet, she still has to slap Gavin across the face before she can think about that.

* * *

It is dusk when she reaches the Grove. She knows she looks something horrid but she is so _tired_, and doesn't care.

She hears their whispers, her brothers and sisters shocked at her. She feels the pain in the back of her head, their surprise and worry and… disgust.

Her leathers are torn, desperately in need of repair, shreds of bark are peeled off her back and arms and she knows there is an oozing gash in her thigh that makes her limp, dragging her sword in the dirt behind her.

One eye is swollen shut and her lips and cheeks are bruised from running face first into a tree.

Silly mistake that one.

Marrow is not much better, limping from a garish bite in his shoulder, ear torn and paws bleeding.

He limps, she limps, they make a great pair.

"_Someone get Kahedins_."

"_Caithe too_."

She keeps walking because that's all she knows is certain.

Everything else is lies or liars, the only thing she can trust is her dog and the solidity of the ground beneath her feet.

When her vision swoons, she becomes not so certain of that either.

She is half way through the upper commons when a frantic hand grabs her arm, gently, but she still seethes and yanks away in surprise.

She turns her bleary gaze up to the sylvari, gentle green skin and short autumn leaves on his head, a soft worried look in his eyes.

"Kahedins." Her heart _aches_.

He is the Luminary of Dusk, firstborn and mender.

He would have been Gavin's mentor when he was a sprout.

"_Sapling_, by the Tree, lay down." He pleads with her but she waves him off.

"C-can't, need to… need to" by the Pale Tree she'd forgotten what she was doing.

She screws her face up, searching her mind.

"Need to… go home, warn Caithe-"

"I am here, sapling." Speak of the devil. The pale sylvari appeared next to her with Kahedins, and in that instant Abhari's vision flickers in and out and—since when did the floor go vertical?

"Whoa, easy sapling, you've been through much." Kahedins catches her fall, Marrow snarls but doesn't leap to defend her, his own wounds taxing him.

Perhaps the Sylvan is as confused as she is.

Kahedins eases her down, propping her head on his pack and checking her eyes, gripping both sides of her jaw to look her over.

"Open your mouth." She does unquestioningly and feels a cool _thick_ liquid pour down her throat.

She coughs, but it feels good, like the mixture is passing through her and stitching up her hoarse throat and the bleeding wound in her temple.

She cannot feel the rest of herself to know if the tonic is working on her other wounds.

"Hmm…" she hums, smiling.

"What is it sapling?" he asks, already cutting open her leathers to take a look at the bleeding puncture in her stomach.

"You're healing… it's… hmm, _nice_." _Wyieth was Nightmare, ah, that makes sense._ She nods at her own realization.

"Makes sense."

She smacks her lips and closes her eyes, jerking when Kahedin's fingers prod her stomach and she hisses.

He does not apologize.

"Sapling, what happened? Where is the stag?" Caithe's face appears in front of her fading vision.

Kahedins snaps at her "Not _now_, Caithe, she needs rest."

Caithe scoffs but doesn't voice her interrogation again.

"Kahedins…" Abhari feels her voice croak.

"Yes?"

"Take care of my dog." Suddenly darkness is all around her, and she doesn't mind.

Gavin laughs and there is a fire crackling somewhere.

Her dog is snoring, and it smells like oranges and cherries.

* * *

"What are we doing here, Caithe?" she's cold. It's barely sunrise and here she is dragged out of bed and marched halfway across Caledon.

She can see her breath in a puff of smoke, been watching it curiously all morning, watching the wisps of… smoke? Steam? Curl up into the atmosphere and dissipate in a flicker of crystallized breath.

She'd missed most of what Caithe was saying to her all morning because of it.

"_Sapling_, for the love of the Tree, _pay attention_." Caithe pulls back the pale lotus leaves and cattails of her hair impatiently. She squints at Caithe, pursing her lips but doesn't rebuttal.

The thief sighs after a moment, "You cans see your breath because your internal temperature is higher than the outside."

"We don't have body heat."

"Doesn't matter, your throat is still warmer than the outside, we're insulators."

"Ah." Abhari smiles, Caithe rolls her eyes.

"What we are _doing_ here is finding the stag." Right. It'd been four weeks since Gavin had taken the stag. And for four weeks they'd searched high and low, the Wardens, stray adventurers, soon as Abhari was well enough to walk Caithe had dragged her out into the Caledon from dawn to dusk, sometimes far enough into the night that it wasn't worth returning home. They'd set up camp, light a fire and sit in silence. Caithe's camps were nothing like Gavin's. They didn't talk, they didn't joke, and Abhari was afraid to ask what any of the packed fruits and dried meats were.

Caithe was a ruthless hunter, but she wasn't a warrior, raiding the Nightmare holdings for clues wasn't her style, interrogation and infiltration however were fair game. Abhari learned how to tread lightly, to move with the shadows and impersonate a courtier, much less interrogate one. It made her heart shudder, manipulating the darkness if just for an act was still giving in to her evils, the ones she didn't know she had hiding in the shadows of her mind.

"The Nightmare court gathers here on occasion. I cannot approach, they know who I am-"

Her mind scrambles and stomach flip flops so quickly she feels like she's going to be sick. "Caithe, wait a second, you don't mean…"

"Afraid I do, sapling." And all at once her nerves were standing on end. Caithe's cool palm on her shoulder wasn't as comforting as she'd hoped.

"You are a newly awakened sapling, they'll be eager to recruit you. You are… irresistible." "Isn't that what got me here in the first place?" she was a worm on a string, dangled dangerously close to a gluttonous fish.

Caithe's smile is weak "Be careful, Valiant, don't listen to their lies, there's no cure once you are corrupted."

"You know, that's not actually comforting." And the firstborn chuckles, "It's not meant to be." _These dangers are very real_.

The knots in her stomach don't ease but neither do they double.

"Alright" she breathes "Alright, I-I'll… talk to one of them… maybe lure her back here?" Caithe nods "We can interrogate her here, force her to tell us about Gavin and the stag."

That _name,_ dammit, it still made her shiver.

"O-okay, I'll go now." She said it more to convince herself more than anything. Marrow was staying behind with Caithe, he'd grown a nasty habit of growling at every sylvari who got too close to her, protective mutt that he was.

His whines nearly made her turn around and run back to him and comfort the poor boy, the farther she walked down the hill into Aron's Woodlot the sadder his howls got.

"Just one more mission boy, then we'll go off hunting, you'd like that, huh?" she knows he can't hear her but still… it helps.

The Woodlot is a quaint sylvari village just along the Sandy Cove beach. They spend their days harvesting the spikeroot fruits planted throughout the beach, thriving in the sandy soil and half submerged in saltwater, and tending their scattered herd of siamoth's.

By the _stars_ she had no idea how often she'd helped these saplings out by sending their herd back to safety and yet here they are, roaming freely without any sign of a fence in construction.

_Sapling_, she laughs when she realizes what she's just called these villagers, _hold on to your roots, you're getting old, Abhari._

The Woodlot is surrounded, one side by water, another by a mossy green hill bound together with arching high roots and trunks, and the other a brown wall of cliffs where seagulls preen and look into the rising sun.

The sand glistens in both wet dew and its own shiny grains, the villagers are just waking—a village of Dawn it would seem—preparing their day of farming and tending to their crops.

For a moment, it seems right. Everything is just waking up, the flowers still hide in their shells, dew and water shines with flickering star light that dies the brighter the eastern horizon gets. The sky is feeling cream today, a warm radiance eating up the gentle blue night and banishing the lovely moon for the rise of the glorious sun.

"Goodbye my friends." She tells the fading stars "I'll see you tonight." They _wink_ their goodbyes and good lucks.

When she arrives down the hill where Caithe has vanished and Marrow has camouflaged easily with the tall grass, she feels the darkness descend.

Not her darkness, not her Night, but that of Nightmare.

The villagers see it too, in the form of three courtiers emerging from the cliffs, _sauntering_ down the gully into the beach like they rule the place. These three courtiers, she can feel their darkness, can feel their roots of evil entwined inside them, the corruption that has turned their souls black. The one with pale oak skin beckons the villagers, long blue leaves entwined in vines and pulled back from her face with a ring of wood.

She calls to the villagers in a sensuous voice sure to tempt the tender-hearted, and puts on such a charming smile, Abhari almost misses the venom in her bright teal eyes that lock onto hers like a basilisk's stone gaze, "Ah, freshly awakened and already you've been lied to."

"Your eyes should be open! Yet they are closed to all but the teachings of long-dead philosophers." The one that stands next to her speaks up. His voice is low and dangerous, growl in his throat and promise of death surrounding him. She can't see much of him beneath dark armor that covers his face, just a small slit where she can find bright green eyes filled with fury. She cannot keep his gaze when he looks at her, turning away, she can hear him scoff.

The one that speaks next is smaller than the others, her pale green skin and soft amber eyes and curling petals do not give off the essence of nightmare, but her voice is tainted, sharp as briars and threaded with a threat.

"The centaur, Ventari. The human, Ronan. Neither were sylvari! Why do we lend their words such credence?"

She knows they've rehearsed this, give a speech long enough to pique interest but short enough to make like ghosts when the Wardens appear. Bright eyes speaks again when Briar finishes, "Ventari's tablet shackles us. In its shadow, we're slaves to an imposed morality, rooted in foreign ground and trapped forever."

Teal eyes takes her queue, "I say no, and so should you! Look within yourself. The Dream is many things. It is light and dark, love and anger, good and evil. So are we." Abhari does not shiver or shy when she finds Teal eyes is only watching her, narrowing in interest and a small smirk pursing her lips.

She does not shudder because she has a role to play, and she's dug up the darkness in her heart and wears it on her sleeve for the courtiers to see, to draw them in, like a foal caught in a snare, Teal eyes is hers.

Briar finishes their charade with a flourish, standing on her toes to beckon to the villagers who have gather curiously.

"Come to us in the forest, saplings, and we will teach you more. We will give you freedom and give you the truth."

There are already whispers when the three courtiers retreat from where they came, Teal eyes frowning in disappointment when Abhari does not immediately follow.

She listens to the villagers first, she wants to know what they think about Nightmare, with Caithe's bias and the Grove pure of nightmare roots, she had little to go off of.

"Mmm… that was—disturbing." One of the saplings mutters, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, while another spoke up cheerily as if she didn't know the weight of her words.

"I have to admit, they made a few good points."

Abhari does not stay to listen to the villager's opinions change to gossip of the previous day's happenings. Instead, she slips away, following after the courtiers distancing figures.

Teal eyes is not surprised when she turns around at the sound of Abhari's deliberate footsteps, and the other two seem pleased.

"You seemed the clever one of the lot." She grabs Abhari's wrist with surprising strength and boldly pulls the sapling flush against her.

_Don't blush, dammit_.

"Do you have questions about the Nightmare court?" Teal eyes purrs and she has to resist with all her might not to shudder.

"A-a few," she manages to stammer out, pulling away from the courtier but not far enough to suggest offense.

"But I'm—_shy_, could we, uhm, talk where others will not hear?" she does not have to fake her racing heart or stuttering words, or the nervous flicker to the two courtiers behind Teal eyes.

The courtier smiles knowingly and releases Abhari's wrist, "Of course we can, my pretty one."

_I'll show you pretty_.

She leads Teal eyes away from her comrades, back up the moss covered hill into the nest of twining roots and trunks covered in vines and spores. She does not see Caithe, or Marrow for that reason, and fears for a moment she's lead the courtier to the wrong place.

But then she sees a patch of ground shift just the slightest to her right, and sees Marrows eyes flicker with hunger at the sight of the courtier.

And then Caithe makes her grand appearance, stepping from nothing into the clearing, Teal eyes jumps back so fast she stumbles and runs into a root.

"Wait, what is this?! What're you doing?" She looks at Abhari in a panic, eyes wide, the ranger can hear her mind racing from where she stands.

Caithe laughs "I thought you courtiers loved a good betrayal. Now, tell us where Gavin took the white stag." Teal eyes changes when she hears Caithe's proposal. Her eyes narrow and she steps forward, snarling at the firstborn while running a finger across her neck threateningly "Come over here and make me. I'll kill you both."

The fight is… boringly short. She'd expected more from a Nightmare courtier but… not all of them could be as good as Gavin, she guesses.

Marrow leapt the moment the courtier drew her sword, teeth clicking together when he latched onto her arm. Teal eyes' scream does not frighten her, it does not chill her, and instead, she finds a temper and fury that burn in her core. Nightmare is evil and hate, torture and murder, a den of liars, this courtier deserves no pity.

Between her, Caithe, and Marrow, Teal eyes is on the ground, bleeding out from a gash in her side from one of Caithe's daggers, and poison ebbing in her bones, a personal concoction from Abhari. Her breathing is slow and she's about to pass out, until Abhari steps on the woman's neck, the fury still burning inside her. _How dare_ _you_.

"Listen here." Her voice is foreign again, just when she was getting used to it she'd find another tone that would surprise her.

This one is… dangerous, low, and _angry_, "You're smart enough to know you're in trouble. Tell us where you're keeping the white stag, and you can go back to your _friends_." Caithe, at least, seems impressed with Abhari's resolve.

"Alright! Alright, I'll tell you," Teal eyes coughs when Abhari lets up, stepping back and letting the courtier pull herself up, staggering on her feet.

"B-but—if I do, the others…"

"They'll never know it was you who ratted them out." Abhari assures her, "Trust me." She does not see Caithe ready her blade.

"G-gavin… he has the stag, in a camp up north—in Hemlock Coil." _See? Was that so hard?_

Caithe steps forward, flickering white-blue daggers drawn, "Thank you. Now, we'll keep our word. We won't tell anyone that you talked…before you died."

"Caithe!" Her eyes aren't teal anymore. With Caithe's dagger dug hilt deep into her stomach, they fade, a darkness infects that brilliant abalone teal, until they go pale, a slate translucent layer coloring her blind.

The firstborn lets the body drop, wiping off the glittering gold sap off her dagger.

"A quick and bitter end. A better death than they give their prey." She looks up to Abhari's venomous glare.

"Valiant?" Abhari doesn't know what this feeling is, just that it is dark and furious and burning like a star inside her. She does know that acting on it would bring nothing good, so she turns and walks off, ignoring Caithe's shout, up until the firstborn's hand closes around her shoulder and she whirls around, striking the thief in her jaw.

"No, Caithe! _Dammit_, I gave her my **word**, and you killed her! You've made me a liar… I-I don't _like _it." Caithe's shock softens, "She'd have warned the court we were coming."

"I _know_ but… _thorns_, look at me, I'm angry," she laughs, "that's _new_."

"Listen, valiant, we did the right thing."

"No… no I don't believe that, Caithe. This is **_my_** hunt. This is _my _dream, you are just along for the ride! But you've been steering me this entire time in **your** direction, I'm done!" She snaps.

All she wants to do is run home. Run to where she can be alone, where her shouting won't be heard, where she can scream at the sky and cry until the sun goes down.

_Dammit, Gavin_. It always came back to him and his choice that still ached something fierce.

"You—you're right." She blinks in surprise when Caithe admits it, rubbing the back of her neck and looking down, sighing.

"I have been… _commandeering_ your dream and I—apologize, you need to walk your own path, sapling and I… will let you choose which way to go. I will follow your instincts." It's humbling honestly, having a **firstborn **apologize to her.

"From now on, Caithe?"

"From now on, Valiant."


	7. An Unknown Soul

I struggled quite a bit with this and the next chapters. Rewrote this one some odd three times before settling with this.

Chapter 8 is still in progress and finals are coming up quickly so I don't know when I'll have it done but it'll go up soon as it is!

Please read and review, any sort of comments are most helpful :)

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**Chapter 7: An Unknown Soul**

The Omphalos chamber is not as comforting as it once was. It is still bright, it is still warm and inviting, and Parroen still tends the pups across the way, three days and the pups are already getting bigger.

In a month they will be full grown and ready to choose their masters and fight for the Grove. Possibly to the death.

The plaza chimes radiate around the chamber from below, a gentle _ting-ta-ching _sound with the _shhhhshaaa_ of wind. It is home as it should be, but it is not the same.

"A penny for your thoughts?" She jumps and whirls around in surprise, blushing when the Pale Tree smiles at her, knowingly, _always_ knowingly.

"I—uh—I was just—" she stammers. She'd came here for a purpose, Malomedies had found her re-carving Old Boy's antlers last night, clearing out the grooves of mud, moss, and tar. It'd been all she was doing for the past couple of nights, tending to the stag, nursing him back to health and pouring herself into the garden. If just to keep her mind off things. Malomedies had… **strongly**_ suggested_ she go see the Pale Tree come morning.

The Pale Tree laughs at her child's blush, it is a warm sort, and sounds like Wintersday bells. Though Abhari can safely say she has never heard those sorts of bells it was just… true. Perhaps she'd heard them once in the Dream.

"Be still, young one, it is a human saying I learned from my children."

"I-I know." Abhari knows her cheeks are dark with embarrassment "I've heard it a few times." She feels small standing next to the avatar of the Pale Tree, all bright and glowing like the sun, dressed in lotus flowers and white lilies, she feels like a quivering little thorn bush in her Mother's presence.

"I did say be _still_." She blushes again and the Pale Tree gives a small chuckle under her breath. "Your feelings are known to me, sapling, your thoughts, however, are not. What worries you?"

"M-Malomedies told me to come… said y-you needed to speak with me."

"I do but I would know you first, valiant." Abhari is not sure she _wants_ the Pale Tree to know her as she is now, months ago, maybe, but now… now she is as bristly as that little thorn bush, angry and _touchy_, as Malomedies had described her.

The Mother's touch on her shoulder is _penetrating_, it fills her with warmth and hope and floods her from head to toe but stops, she feels, at the dark core inside her, swirling with black energy.

"Tell me why." The Pale Tree grabs both her shoulders, making her look her in the eye, soft pale gold eyes that she knows read her like an open book.

"What captivates your thoughts so fiercely?"

"I _miss _him, alright?" she doesn't mean to snap, doesn't mean to snarl but it happens, just as well as the tears rimming her eyes.

"I miss him, mother… don't you… don't you feel it too? I-I feel… _empty_, and everyone—everyone around me **_congratulates_** me on my victory but—it's not a _victory_, mother, it **hurts** too much to be that." Her shoulders are trembling and her hands are clenched tightly into fists. She purses her lips together to stop them from shaking and she knows she hardly looks like a girl in control of her emotions.

"No one mourns him but me, mother, and I am _tired_ of being alone." She winces when those soft caring hands grasp her jaw and tilt her face up so that their eyes meet.

The Pale Tree smiles "The animals do not help?" Abhari chokes and laughs, shaking her head.

"Marrow and uhm—the stag are… _comforting_, but not the same, mother." She can't help the smile tugging at her lips as she wipes away the tears that threaten to spill over.

The Pale Tree takes both her hands, thumbing over the dark purple bark of her knuckles absently.

"I mourn him as well, dear heart." She _sighs_, and Abhari finds it surprising that the Mother of all would bear such _emotion_ in the open.

When she'd first recognized the Pale Tree as a being outside the dream, she imagined a stoic and wise character, and she was but… also so much more _real_ than a Queen on an unreachable pedestal.

"I mourn all my children. The ones who have turned their hearts away from me, the soundless, and the ones whose souls have turned black with hate and despair. I weep for those not yet born, who will have to struggle as you have. Most of all, I worry for those who roam the world, and those I call my firsts."

"The firstborn?" she wasn't expecting that.

The Pale Tree nods, squeezing Abhari's hands before letting go and walking towards a wide opening in the wall that overlooks the rest of the grove. Abhari follows and stands next to her, looking across the treetops and down into the commons where sylvari chatter, barter, and travelers from faraway lands arrive with either awe or surprise on their faces.

"Yes, they see the farthest, they've seen the darkest times yet and know the darker times to come. They _ache_, young one, they are tired and I worry for them."

"…and Caithe?"

"_Especially _Caithe." The Pale Tree smiles, but the sorrow in her eyes sours it, "As she is the closest to the fall." Abhari narrows her eyes, brows knitting, "Caithe? Falling to Nightmare?" _but… the firstborn hates Nightmare, why would she consider joining them?_

"She lost someone dear to her to the darkness, and I know not a day where she does not consider joining her love."

Abhari bows her head, ashamed. She'd been harsh on Caithe, probably even pushed her closer to the edge, but… the _thought_ of Caithe still ignites a primal fire inside her that she's not sure will ever go out.

"But she does worry about _you_, sapling."

"Me?"

"Yes, she worries that you will fall to darkness if you go alone. Mostly, she worries that she will lose her one and only companion in her Wyld Hunt." _The Dragons._

Abhari can't help the exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose when a roaring headache floods her skull.

"Mother… I don't _want_ to fight the dragons. I mean… yes, I want them gone; they destroy everything they touch but… certainly you could have chosen someone more _capable_?"

Suddenly those pale gold eyes are back on her and she ducks, she doesn't want the Mother to see her soul so easily as through her eyes.

"Oh _sapling_... I do not choose which of my children receives a Wyld Hunt. I cannot decide my children's fate, the dream of dreams is a wild and untamed thing—I am merely its conduit. What you saw in your dream is yours alone to keep, love, and I am _sorry_ that you have such a burden on your shoulders while you are still so young. Just know that the Dream only shows such a burden to my bravest and strongest of children." She is at least _genuine_ in her apologies, but Abhari still feels her shoulders slump. She knew the Pale Tree did not decide her destiny but... she still wishes she could hide from it, hide from the dragon that hungers for her blood every night when she closes her eyes. She is not brave enough, or strong enough, to face such a fate.

There is a long pause between them, the Pale Tree ever patient, quiet as she waits for one of Abhari's many warring thoughts to come out on top. The dragons were her fate, her _destiny_, one she could choose to ignore, she could try and run from her fate but... there were Elder Dragons in every corner of Tyria now... now there would be no place far enough to escape them.

So with that decided, "Mother... I have never _considered_ joining the Court, it's not... _right_... but I can't say that I entirely disagree with them." The Pale Tree does not respond and for a moment she fears she's said the wrong thing.

"I-I... it's just... Gavin was honorable, he was my friend and I—he had all the right intentions, why did he have to die?"

"So you do not agree with Ventari's Tablet?" The woman dressed in sunlight meets her worried gaze and she finds herself looking away, unable to meet those eyes without feeling a seed of... not shame but... something inside her that quivered and shook, doubt, maybe.

"I do but... I feel like Tyria does not. How can we believe in the tablet when what we see and feel negates it?"

"It is a challenge, young one. To have faith in an unseen philosophy is difficult in a cruel world but without it, we would all certainly fall to despair." And she considers it, she's not sure she entirely agrees but she does consider it.

"I will... think on it, mother." She sighs, rubbing the back of her neck, feeling knots in her muscles ease just the slightest, like a weight was lightened, not gone, but no longer as heavy as it once was.

"You have the freedom to believe what you will, simply know that a little faith can go a long way... even my firsts need to be reminded sometimes." The Pale Tree offers her a small smile before she turns and walks into the alcove bathed in sunlight, "Now, Malomedies told you I wished to speak with you, yes?"

Abhari follows, standing before her, hands gripped behind her back, twiddling her thumbs nervously "Ah—yes."

The Pale Tree smiles again at her child's nervousness, "I wish for you to meet my eldest child, Trahearne, he has returned from Orr and I feel your destinies are just as intertwined as yours and Caithe's." The flinch Abhari makes when she hears that name does not go unnoticed. The Pale Tree frowns and takes her hand, reaching to tilt Abhari's face up so that she may look at her. But Abhari does not meet her eyes, instead looking off to the side, brows knit and lips pursed thin.

"Child... please forgive Caithe her misgivings, she has lost... _much_ and she worries so." She tries to sooth her child's soul, but it would seem that she would refuse the effort.

"I will... _try_, mother, but I'm afraid it will not be so easy." Abhari sighs, and feels a pit slowly settle in her stomach at the thought of meeting another firstborn, "...Where do I meet this Trahearne?"

The Pale Tree seems at least _satisfied_ for now, "He awaits in your garden. He has shown interest in you and your dream so please, love, be patient."

And honestly, she is _tired_ of people wanting to butt in on her dream. She fears she will not meet expectations, her glorious destiny calls for a soul of valor and she's afraid that that soul is not in her, and never will be.

"I will mother... I will—go meet him now." She turns away abruptly, she misses the sad look the Pale Tree gives her, and the apologetic one she receives from Parroen, even the gentle whines from the pups who sense her heart.

Trahearne will be disappointed when he feels her soul. She will arrive in the terrace and he will sense such a darkness he would kill her on sight for fear of Nightmare.

She feels her heart quiver the slightest when she realizes she would not be unwelcome to death.

Let the reaper come, it is time she get acquainted with her employer.


	8. Black Night, White Stag

Finally got this one done! Between finals and lack of inspiration, I had no time until recently. Please read and review! Any comment or critique is _greatly_ welcome.

In other news. That new Hobbit movie... go see it... now... its _amazing_.

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**Chapter 8: Black Night, White Stag**

_Thorns_, how did she get herself into this mess?

Of course it would be Sariel who was in charge of the Nightmare Court at Hemlock Coil. Of course she would recognize Abhari, and of course she would hold a grudge. After all, it was the sapling who had cost her the White Stag during the hunt and handed him to Gavin on a silver platter. And luck would have it, she would be a _warrior_, testing Abhari's ability to dodge out of the way of her onslaught. One good hit from Sariel's oil black shield and she'd be done for.

Her shoulders ached from dodging the warrior's charges, and her fingers were numb with the cold of the night. Soft blue light glows from the seams in her bark, and she certainly feels a surge of power when the full moon's light washes over her but… Sariel is _tough_, not so much that she was a match for Abhari, more so that the ranger was desperately trying _not_ to wound her. She needed to buy Caithe more time to free the stag, and to make an interesting fight for the courtiers surrounding them, who were jeering and taunting Sariel more than Abhari, which was surprising.

Of course, she _knows_ how she got in this mess, it was her idea in the first place. Soon as they wrapped up at Aron's Woodlot, Caithe had led the way north to Hemlock Coil, a narrow canyon infested with Nightmare Court, in the southern most corner of the Trader's Green province. They made Mabon Market by noon, the jungle growing _hot_ beneath the sun, the humidity sticking to her skin and turning her temper sour.

Caithe had given her an ultimatum at Mabon while they rested and resupplied. The plan was to scout out the area, Caithe being the thief, she would go in and infiltrate the camp, attain logistics, weak points, and so on. But what they did with that information was at Abhari's whim.

"If the stag yet resists Nightmare, we have a couple of options."

Abhari knew she would live to regret this but she had to ask, "…and what if he doesn't? What if he has already given in to his torturers?" It had been _weeks_ since the stag's capture, there was no telling whether his soul had been tainted or not.

Caithe's lips had thinned and she looked Abhari directly in her eyes, "If he is black with nightmare, then you must kill him."

"But-"

"No _buts_ sapling, there is no cure for nightmare. If he has turned then he is a great weapon against the dream. You _must_ do what is required of you." And she had muttered bitterly at Caithe's argument but couldn't disagree. She just prayed that they were not too late.

"Alright," she sighed, "What are our options, Caithe?"

"Firstly, we can disguise ourselves and sneak into the camp." Caithe drew a map in the sand of Mabon's beach with a stick, detailing the layout of Hemlock Coil.

It was a canyon, high cliffs guarding the sides of the Nightmare camp, the only points of access being from the valley in the north, though from that location they would be spotted miles away by the Nightmare scouts. The south was a hill side shrouded in jungle trees and a blind corner, they would have better cover there, even more so with night fall.

"Once inside we can trick the courtiers into letting us handle the stag. We'd 'relocate' him and hopefully make it back to the Grove with little incident." It was a good plan, but it settled something rough in her stomach.

"…and the other option?"

"Distraction."

They'd discussed some options, a rock slide from the cliffs, a fire, explosion, but it all pivoted on the safety of the stag.

"We need to find out who is the courtier managing the camp. Maybe we could play on his weaknesses instead?" Abhari suggested.

Caithe had seemed to consider it for a beat, before nodding, toeing her map out of the sand as she stood.

"It would be best to wait for night fall, it will be a full moon so we will not get the darkest of cover but it will do."

"Will the stag last until then?"

"If he has lasted to now, then I believe he will manage a few more hours." She didn't like it, but she didn't argue.

They left for Hemlock Coil with the sun slowly descending in the sky and made it with the smallest flares of light bursting across the horizon, stars returning in the purple sky.

Caithe had left her in the jungle to the south of the camp and she waited, watching the methods of the guards, mapping their patrols in her head absently.

When Caithe returned with the camp leader's name on her tongue, Abhari knew _exactly_ what to do.

"_Sariel_? You're sure."

"I am, valiant. She is a vain _prideful_ little thorn."

"I've met her." Caithe's eyes widened in curiosity and she ducks her head, blushing.

"Ah… uhm, during the hunt. Gavin and I ran into her. He didn't seem to carry the best impression of her either."

Caithe smirked, bitterness narrowing her eyes "I am not surprised. Even her followers do not like her."

"Bet they would like to see her lose in a duel." She'd mentioned in passing but Caithe's eyes widened and she grinned.

"That's _it_. You could challenge her to a duel. She is too prideful to reject it, and her followers would relish seeing her be taken down a level." And she'd agreed, because she liked the idea of it better than the infiltration.

Right now though, she wasn't so sure.

Marrow's warning bark barely reaches her in time for her to duck beneath Sariel's sword. He is whining, pawing at the ground on the sidelines because she'd called him off. Her and Marrow were _too _good a team, Sariel would not be able to handle them both and a quick duel meant shorter time for Caithe to sneak into the camp and set loose the stag—also, the greater likelihood that they would all die once the courtiers knew what was going on.

And if Sariel went down there was no saying if the courtiers would turn on Abhari if Caithe was not already making a run for it.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Marrow's vivacious barking brought her back, her mind absent from the battlefield, fret with worry of the plan going completely sideways.

The plan would fall through just as quickly were she to fall at Sariel's sword quicker than Caithe's lock picks could work. Her panicked arrow flew wide, glancing off the pinecone-headed sylvari's shield that was advancing on her fast as a rampaging wind rider. The shield, she was sure, was made of solid oak, at least that is what it felt like when its protruding shelf rammed into her chest. She didn't scream when her ribs cracked, tried not to grimace when the soles of her shoes burned hot trying to catch herself, and managed, until her back hit the wall.

The canyon walls were covered in plush moss and cool ferns, all except the lower walls where she was pinned to, not because of Sariel, or fear, or anything like that, but because of the hooked thorns digging inches deep into her back.

"Oh, _damn_." The warrior _noticed_, a cruel smile pursing her lips. Sariel's black shield rimmed in spikes pressed _slowly_ into her chest, her fractured bones _creaking_ underneath the pressure making her inhale sharply.

"Looks like you're stuck, sapling." Sariel's voice is like bark being peeled off an aspen, sharp and crackling with splinters, her breath is worse.

"Mind if I amend the terms of our duel?" Abhari gasped weakly, reaching inside herself to the dregs of her magic, hoping she could eke out another unguent of healing.

With Sariel's breath hot on her cheek, it didn't seem possible, she needed Marrow, but he was barking incessantly, a courtier holding him back by the scruff on his neck, and struggling at it too based on the drag marks of the courtier's heels in the dirt.

The pressure on her chest lifted just the slightest, Sariel's marsh green eyes flickering in curiosity.

Abhari grimaced, surprised when she felt a cool line of gold fall from her lips. She must have bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to break a vein.

"Does it have to be to the death? I don't think-" she _cried _when Sariel's shield lifted and **smashed** back into her, not once, but twice, ribs _snapping_ under the pressure and flecks of gold splattering against Sariel's pale face with Abhari's cry.

"To the _death_? To the _death_?!" Sariel's cruel cackle sent a chill down her back… though that may have very well been the sap oozing from her wounds.

"Sapling, you should have _known_, when you lose, when you can't fight anymore, which seems awful—_close-_" she hates the way Sariel eyes her like a fresh piece of meat for a scavenger's pallet, "-I'm going to take you, and _torture_ you. I'm going to break every finger, and peel away your _beautiful_ bark, and once I'm through, I'll send you back to the Grove, where everyone will get the message."

Abhari seethed, a grimace on her lips she forces into a smirk "Ha, and what _message_ is that?" She briefly wonders if banter mid-combat is a learned trait since it came so easily to Caithe. Her mind is _scrambling_ for witty responses designed to infuriate but also distract. Based solely on the fact she was still _alive_, she had to be doing something right.

"The _message_?" Sariel seemed genuinely surprised "You _must_ be fresh from the tree." There was a chuckle from the courtiers, and she remembers she's meant to be a _distraction_. Pinned to a wall and exchanging thoughts was hardly the entertainment Caithe had called for. But if the banter were witty enough, perhaps?

"Humor me, Sariel, I'm a sprout fresh from the pod."

"Hmph-" Sariel considers her words for a flicker, "-the message, _valiant_, is no one messes with Sariel of Noon and Nightmare. Those frightlings in the Grove will see your black scars and see my knife that carved your skin." Sariel smirks, obviously pleased with herself "The cost of your destiny is a vast one, to be the one to take it away would be—" she stops, eyes lighting with realization. She sneers down on Abhari and raises her sword to her throat, tilting the cherry skinned sylvari's chin up to see her swallow.

"Maybe I should _relish_ this."

"Maybe you should." Caithe's chilled voice is probably the most beautiful thing Abhari has ever heard. Sariel spins on her heel at the familiar sound, seeing the firstborn across the dirt arena, her daggers drawn.

"_Caithe-_" Sariel snarls, dropping into a defensive stance.

The courtiers whisper in surprise "_Can we take a firstborn?_", eyes wide, reaching for their weapons when a beast as white as snow lands in front of them, leaping across the lot, making them scatter for fear of being crushed beneath the stampeding hooves.

Sariel shouts at her fleeing soldiers for their cowardice "Get _back_ here!", bringing her shield up to block the stag's antlers when he turns on her in fury. She smacks him on the neck with the flat of her blade, making him jump back, lowering his head and digging his hoof in the dirt, anger in his black eyes, his antlers already tipped in gold from an unfortunate courtier in his way.

Abhari pries herself off the thorns, grimacing, the pain is _excruciating_, shreds of bark peeling off her back and thorns breaking off their vines to lodge deep in her spine. She drops on her knees once she is free, breathless, but she _can't_ stop, she doesn't have the _luxury_ to. Her bones _creeeak_ and blood thickens in her throat, and she feels like she is _drowning_ though she has never felt the sensation truly. She is drowning but someone needs a greater rescue than she.

Sariel **howls** when Abhari lunges, tackling the courtier and scrambling for purchase on her black armor. She receives a violent kick to the face and her skull _screams_ but she bites her tongue and fights, snarling when Sariel's shield is wrenched away from her, protecting its bearer. Her eyes spot a flash of light and she looks up, she sees the moon shimmer on Sariel's raised sword, such _rage_ inside the blade, stained with the torture of a dozen souls and the tears of the woman who wields it. But also the anger of her.

Abhari knows she's made a fatal mistake. She is weaponless, scrambling up a warrior armed to the teeth, but the stag is safe though he seems surprised to see the jumbling tangle of limbs. Caithe slaps him on the hindquarters, making him bolt when Sariel's sword swings down and for that brief moment when the stag is leaping above her and the blade is coming down to take off her head, time _stops_—the moon is hanging in the sky, witnessing her death, and she is not sure if he mourns her or laughs at her.

Or if he does not believe in her demise, because he sees the dog sprinting to the defense of his master.

Sariel's blade is stopped short and her _scream_ deafens dog and ranger; his teeth is deep in her wrist and he wrenches, shredding her skin and dragging her away, kicking and screaming. Marrow _pulls_ with all his might, swinging Sariel around and letting go, feeling no remorse for the sylvari when her back hits the canyon wall and she falls on her head, body going limp from the impact. A dog does not gloat, does not boast, not before he knows his master is safe.

"I'm fine, Marrow." She murmurs when he turns to her, nudging her cheek worriedly. He _snuffs_ at her, unimpressed when she stumbles to pull herself up. It is Caithe who has her on her feet, pulling her up unceremoniously by her arm, gripping her tight by her shoulders.

"_Abhari, look at me_." Her voice is distant, but the sapling blinks, Caithe's blurred face coming in to focus.

Barely.

"_Run_." Caithe's order is **final**, it hits her in the gut and she just nods, no time to argue, not when the courtiers are regaining their bearings from the stag's attack and Caithe's appearance.

Caithe shoves her _hard_, barking "RUN!" flourishing her daggers and turning to a screaming courtier, killing his battle cry in his neck, spinning to snap another attacker's ribs with a well-placed hilt jab.

Abhari stumbles, nearly falling, Marrow providing a solid thing to push off of, and she manages to find her feet. Her toes are numb, she's not sure from the blood loss, the exhaustion, or the cold, maybe a combination of the three. But she finds that inkling of power left in her, one part grit, two parts audacity, and three parts desperation. Her mission is nearly done but her charge is running ahead of her and knowing that is what gets her running, cold air flooding her lungs when she scrambles down the hill from the canyon, Marrow on her heels.

Her quiver bounces against her thigh and bow slaps against her wounded back and somewhere in the back of her mind she realizes her bow is broken, the shaft shattered during combat, but it is not _important_, the creature of snow and fire _is_.

Somehow she tracks him down again, breath puffing in smoke in the cold, she finds him in the water outside Astorea, panting like she does, she sees him _trembling_, knees wobbly and breaths shaking his coat.

She does not feel a _thing_ when she finds him, she is in the clouds, bleary and _charged_ with a warm energy she is not sure what to call.

Perhaps it is the dregs of adrenaline.

He does not run from her when he sees her appear on the hill, and she does not fear him or approach him cautiously, she does not have the _time _for niceties. Instead, she grabs his antler gently, whispering in his ear.

"Let's go home, Old Boy."

He nips at her but does not argue, unlike Marrow who _whines_, prancing behind her and chuffing, she is not sure what for… maybe for the trail of glittering sap she leaves in her footprints.

The Grove is _quiet_ at night, puffering swallows who thrive on the fireflies and twittering crickets whose song is slow at this chilly hour. The frantic sprint from Hemlock Coil to Astorea is a blur of ice clinging to her skin and jaguars watching her in the jungle, yellow eyes like moons watching for weak prey; her legs are certainly feeling it now though, as every other step her knees buckle and she leans on the stag for support. She blinks once and suddenly a light is being shoved into her face, it is Kahedins, carrying a ball of light from one of the flower lanterns in the grove. She recognizes his worried crease in his brow though it takes her a moment to see the rest of his face when her vision swoons. She realizes she's on the ground, looking up at the sky slowly lighting up with a distant sun. She must have passed out.

"How long—?"

"Just a moment." Kahedins assures her, gently helping her up "I saw you go down." He gains a knowing smile "Your dog started waking up the rest of the Grove when he saw you drop." Said dog nudges her face, licking her cheek making her laugh and gasp in pain. Her lungs are bruised and ribs ache but at the least her back has gone numb, where she knows the most damage is.

"The stag?"

"He is here." She looks up to see the Luminary of Dawn, Aife, her pale yellow eyes flickering in warmth reserved for animal kind as she smooths the stag's ruffed fur along his neck. He quivers and bows to her touch, eyes blinking slowly in exhaustion.

Her winter green skin glimmers in the moonlight and she turns to Abhari, a small sad smile on her lips "He is glad to be home."

"As am I." Abhari returns her smile with a small one of her own, wincing when her lips crack from the cold.

She is surprised when an unfamiliar grasps her shoulder and she whips her head, wincing at the action, to see Niamh, the luminary of Noon…. _Sariel's_ luminary.

Her bark is dark as nightshade, dark slate purple, but her eyes are _bright_ and the color of the sea. A smile crinkles the corners of her eyes, a smile unbefitting of a woman decked out in heavy armor made of oak branches and heartwood, tipped in pale gold and glowing white in the night. "Apologies, valiant." She whispers as though her voice would break Abhari's focus, "But where is Caithe?" _Right, Caithe…_, "Uhm…"

"Do not worry, I am here." They all look to their sister, glowing under the moon, an expression of fire set in stone on her face.

"But we do not have time to rest, I have seen scouts on our doorstep-" emphasized by the gold dripping from her exposed blades.

"Nightmare?" Aife gasps, covering the stag's ears with her hands as if he were a human child.

"They want the stag, and they will do _anything_ to get it back." Caithe wipes the blood off her blades and sheathes them, reaching down to Abhari to pull her up doubt Kahedin's vocal protest.

"Valiant, we _need_ you. You have experience with both Sariel and Gavin."

"You think he will be here?" Abhari feels ice clench on her heart for a brief second, but it is not angry… just cold.

"Most likely."

"_Caithe_." Kahedins protests "The Valiant is barely fit for battle." Caithe's icy eyes land on him "She will _have_ to be. They are on our doorstep and they will _win_ if we are not all defending our home."

"I'm ready." Abhari is not sure who is using her voice to speak. _Like hell you're ready_. She knows the bleeding has stopped but that is barely grounds for being battle ready.

Kahedins audibly scoffs but does not protest, they all know the risk of a frontal assault from the Nightmare Court.

Niamh stands after studying the ground, Abhari realizes she was studying the droplets of golden dew that could only be from her own aching wounds.

But the luminary of Noon does not voice any protest, "We will need to fall back to a defensible position." She gestures to the commons they stand in, open and gorgeous and _no_ place for battle.

"My garden." Someone is using her voice again, she's not sure why, maybe to be useful. All four firstborn look at her, Niamh with a smirk, impressed with the suggestion.

"It is defensible, the archways for the archers and plaza for the melee. There is only one way in, the court will be funneled into close combat, we'll have them right where we want them."

"You know your war tactics, sapling." Niamh squeezes her shoulder with a smile before turning to Aife "Take the stag down to Dreamer's Terrace, I will waken my wardens. Kahedins, prepare your menders, Malomedies-" Abhari turns swiftly at the sound of his name, seeing the sylvari of darkness watching from the shadows.

His brass eyes are bright and _angry_, boring into her. She is not sure what kind of anger it is, but it is directed at _her_, and she finds a fiery blush turning her cheeks dark, so she turns away from him, feeling a black pit in her stomach. Is it shame? If so, she doesn't know what it is for.

Niamh gives her orders to Malomedies and Caithe, being the most experienced soldier and commander of the sylvari army, they respect her, and set out to their assigned tasks.

"N-Niamh?" The head of the wardens looks on the valiant, eyes softening, "Yes?"

"What should I do?" Abhari stomachs the pain in her bones, shoving it into the dark corners of her mind along with the fatigue of being up since last dawn.

"Prepare." Niamh touches her cheek, tilting her head to take a look at a bruise, "…go to Dreamer's Terrace, retrieve some weapons, it looks like you will need a new set." She says with such a smile that Abhari can't help but reciprocating it doubt the blush burning in her ears.

"_Right_." She murmurs, tucking her ear in nervous habit.

"And maybe swallow a couple of Kahedins' tonics, if just to calm his nerves."

"And what will you do?"

"I will go and warn the Pale Tree, though it is likely she already knows."

Abhari finds her curiosity soar at the mention of the Mother Tree, "…Will she fight the Nightmare?"

Niamh's smile turns morose "Not as you or I do, but yes." She pushes Abhari away gently, "_Go_, your garden will need you, Valiant." Abhari nods, touching her heart in salute and turns to head to battle. She feels a soul on her shoulder, later she will call it by its name, but now she does not know it except only as apprehension, fear not for her own life, but that of what is to come.

When she looks back on this memory she will remember the whispers of a lover, "_Do not worry, love, the Mists take all souls_."


	9. The Harbinger

**Have a Merry Christmas everyone! Late chapter again but had to rewrite this one a couple times too. Next up is the battle we've been waiting for! But, enjoy this tidbit until then :) As always, please read and review, _any_ comments or critiques you have would be welcome!**

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**Chapter 9: The Harbinger**

Malomedies _observes_.

It is what he does, watching the present to determine the future, reading the past so as not to repeat it. He is a scholar, an astronomer, a mentor… though he feels he has betrayed that title most recently.

He is surprised he did not see it coming. He is at a loss, determining how he did not see _this_… a black anger that taints his soul, and a vast sorrow that embraces one of his own. What he _does_ know, is that he will not be letting it happen **again**.

That is why he waits in Dreamer's Terrace, watching the gentle sway of the bluebells in the soft breeze pouring down from the upper levels, carrying the smell of freshwater and the spices of the market above at Reckoner's Terrace.  
Mint, cinnamon, and pine.  
After the Battle of the Valiant Stag, Abhari had planted the bluebells _everywhere_, being her favorite of flowers, they seemed to calm her, and more than once he had spotted her staring at them with her dog snoozing beside her. The sylvari who lived in the garden seemed to appreciate it as well; the flowers were a distraction from the death that still lingered in the air. It had been a couple of weeks since the battle, but the wounds still felt tender and fresh, and the garden still held scars of war. A circle of black soot is burned in the ground from a guardian's ring of fire, grass grows over it but the smell is still there and the plants that grow there are darker than the others. Stripes of fire climb some of the walls, and pock marks from archer's arrows that missed their marks are being grown over. The visitors do not see any of this; it would only be the witnesses of the actual battle who see the signs.

That and those who have always been sensitive to emotions stained in the soul of a being or place. So he should say he wasn't surprised when he saw Trahearne enter the terrace, and stumble as if he were kicked in the chest.

Malomedies sees his brother's pale gold eyes widen in surprise when he walks into the arching doorway, reaching out to the wall for support.

Trahearne _sees_ as well as Malomedies, sees the scars, the tears in the soul of this place, but he has always been the more optimistic one, as he sees the recovery in the form of fresh bluebells, grass, and a tree of shimmering white bark and blue growth, black leaves frosted blue on the undersides and buds that promise to blossom soon.

Then his eldest brother spots him across the commons and smiles, crossing the sunlit room to greet the mesmer.

"Malomedies! It is good to see you again." Trahearne's smile grows when he clasps Malomedies arm and shakes firmly with his brother of Night.

"And you, Trahearne." He smiles too, but he knows it does not reach his eyes, and he knows Trahearne sees everything written on his face.

The dark green sylvari gives him a weary look, pale eyes narrowing curiously "Something is wrong."

Malomedies snorts, "_Many_ things are **wrong**, Trahearne, you know that."

"Yes, but never so close to home, never as close to your heart as this… and not since the asura all those years ago." Malomedies' lips thin.

Trahearne saw _far_, farther than most, both into the past and the future and deeper in the present than any detective he knew.

"It is… Abhari, the sapling you called for." Trahearne nods in recognition of the name, "I have heard of her exploits, and wish her help in another matter."

"_That_ is what is wrong, Trahearne."

"Ah, I thought you looked like you were expecting me." Trahearne mutters, reaching to Malomedies shoulder and gesturing to a private alcove dusted in a wall of vines. A resting area for the tired and wounded, now empty, "Let us speak in private." Malomedies concedes, following Trahearne beyond the ivy of the alcove that will muffle their conversation.

"You worry about her." The necromancer wastes no time, turning on his heel to face Malomedies once he is sure their words will not be heard across the garden.

"_Of course_ I do." Malomedies replies sharply, "You have surely heard her story."

Trahearne sighs at that, leaning on a low shelf on the wall, crossing his arms and aimlessly digging his heel in the ground.

"I have heard… _some_, but no details." He looks up, and Malomedies can see there is sorrow there, "What happened between her and Caithe?"

"I… admit, I am not entirely clear on the details myself but… Abhari is _angry-_"

"I suspect as angry as you." Trahearne interrupts, giving Malomedies a knowing look. The mesmer looks away, pursing his lips.

He should have known Trahearne would sense the red fury in his own core. When he returns his gaze to his brother he sees Trahearne's eyes shine, mostly in worry. They had grown up together, Malomedies was among the youngest of the firstborn, Trahearne the eldest of their entire species, born on the first dawn of the sylvari; Trahearne _knew_ Malomedies but—_this_, whatever it was, that stemmed off his Night brother was… foreign.

Malomedies sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, "I know to deal with my anger accordingly but Abhari… she is young still… and I would know _your_ intentions for her." His voice sharpens noticeably and he does not miss the hurt that flickers across Trahearne's face at the accusatory words.

"Malomedies…"

"Please, Trahearne, she is a _powerful_ sprout but—surely there is another you could use? I would not see her hurt for your personal gain." He knows he is being harsh but… he would not let her be passed on to another without knowing their plans. Not again.

"I'm surprised at you, Mal…" Trahearne's eyes narrow, though he sees the roots of rage and sorrow inside his brother's heart, he does not see the reasons behind them, "You were not so quick to see evil when last I returned home."

Malomedies snorts, turning away from Trahearne to look out onto the garden commons, watching the warriors in the training fields.

"When last you visited I could _trust_-" he stops himself, his shoulders hiking up. He knows he is giving in to his anger, that hungry black pit in his stomach that spits venom. He remembers his own lessons to his students, his warnings against such a sensation, and the result of feeding it.

Trahearne watches him patiently, worry knit in his brow. The necromancer sighs and steps forward, placing both his hands on Malomedies' shoulders. He smiles though it is a sad sort, "I need her, Mal, but I will look out for her… I promise." The Luminary returns Trahearne's smile with his own, but he is _worried_… yet he knows he can trust Trahearne more than he can trust Caithe in her current state of mind.

"I believe _you_… but- " he swears under his breath, shaking his head "Caithe will surely try to interject herself into your… _investigation_." Trahearne's reaction betrays himself, "I—_hmm_—I may have asked for her aid, in fact." The necromancer gestures and Malomedies follows to see the thief of their conversation waiting across the commons for their whispered words to finish.

Malomedies scoffs, Trahearne grabs his shoulder, making him meet his eyes, "Malomedies, I _need_ the two of them, my mission is _important_ and… I fear failure without both dragon hunters." Malomedies cannot help the snort of distaste, "Abhari is not a dragon hunter, she may be a valiant of a grand wyld hunt but she does not believe it."

"She will in time."

"_Making_ her believe it is a very different thing than her coming to her own conclusions."

"_Malomedies_" Trahearne's grip hardens, his voice sharpening in a hiss "Your words are harsher than you intend, I think." Malomedies sighs and squeezes his brother's hand on his shoulder, "Yes… I know—I will… _think_ on it. I believe you know what you are doing." The sylvari with pale gold and winter green leaves purses his lips, a defensive smile, "Your faith is… _welcoming_, I will try and see Abhari through, but she will have to be the final judge of that."

The Night Luminary seems to concede at that, "Alright… I will retrieve her. You and Caithe will need to talk about your quest." He goes to leave, stopping when Trahearne clasps his hand, "_Malomedies_, your heart is heavier than I have felt it in a _long_ time, not since the asura… if you would talk with Mother…" Malomedies smiles, recognizing his own advice for Abhari, "I will Trahearne, when night falls, perhaps things will be clearer." He returns Trahearne's clasp and parts the ivy as he leaves, giving a brief nod to Caithe when he passes, she returning it with just as much restraint.

Soon as he is gone from Dreamer's Terrace she turns on her heel and makes a beeline for Trahearne.

"What did he tell you?" She asks vehemently.

Trahearne laughs, "As _tactful_ as ever, Caithe." She blushes, ashamed. She was once subtle, a master of manipulation but… lately… her skills in subterfuge were lacking. She is surprised at the brief touch to her cheek, turning her eyes upward to her eldest brother.

"I will tell you what I told him. For the love of the _Pale Tree_ **think** on your intentions before you commit to them. You are wiser than _this_." She purses her lips.

She _wants_ to argue but… his words ring truer than she'd like, and she knows he is right.

"You are _infuriating_ sometimes, Trahearne." She replies with a smile that reaches her eyes. She realizes how much she has _missed_ him, each time he leaves the Grove aches a little more, and each time he returns, she can hear the song of the sylvari brighten just the slightest.

"How have your travels faired, Trahearne? Have you found a way to cleanse Orr?"

"Not yet, Caithe, but I do have a tale to tell." Trahearne replies with a smile. He is glad to be home, even though his siblings squabble, and even though his stay will be brief, he can be reassured that the Grove is safe in the hands of the Mother and the Luminary, and that the arrival of a second valiant tells of a closer end to his own dream.

"Tell me, what have you heard of 'The Harbinger'?"


	10. The Battle of the Valiant Stag

**Phew! This chapter took yet another while to get out of me, a whopping 18 pages for your enjoyment :) Oh! And Happy New Year! Welcome to 2014! Please read and review, any kind of comment or critique is _greatly_ appreciated, and I enjoy reading your thoughts. Also, posting this while cooking some snazzy snickerdoodle balls, I'll let you know how they turned out :P**

**So enjoy! Let me know what you think now that we've come to an end of the arc of the white stag.**

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**Chapter 10: The Battle of the Valiant Stag**

She hears voices, but she is not sure where from. They are quiet, whispers, formless words following the stampeding of armor and clang of weapons being readied, the familiar stretch of bow strings and arrows shivering in their quivers.

Everything is a disjointed reality, sounds unable to be associated with their bearers... until such a _sharp _and **volatile** smell floods her senses and she bolts up right, breathing in sharply, catching in her throat and making her retch. Her eyes _burn_ and her ears are suddenly flooded with those same noises, turned up to an unbearable volume.

Then cool hands cover her ears, muting the world.

She looks up to see Kahedins smiling weakly at her, they are his hands covering her ears until she can adjust to the waking world.

She swallows, narrowing her eyes in the sharp light, realizing it is a lantern hanging over her, shining _bright_ to provide enough luminance for menders looking over their charges.

"Better?" He asks her, and though his voice is muffled she can read his lips forming the word. She nods, "Better." though her throat certainly protests that statement.

He releases his hold of her and the noises comes flooding back in, but she is ready for it, and adjusts to the sounds of many bodies flying about, shouts of menders calling for poultices and the _shiiing_ of soldiers sharpening their blades.

Kahedins hands her a canteen she hungrily gulps down, wiping her mouth from the blue water and sighing in relief, her throat pleased at the reprieve.

"Kahedins, w-what happened?"

"You fainted, sapling; half way down the helix, nearly fell into the lower pools if it hadn't been for your dog." he sighs with a knowing but unimpressed smile.

_What else would you expect?_—-, "I have mended your major wounds but..." he purses his lips, meeting her eyes with his, the color of moonlight and silver. She can see his face harden, both in concern and exasperation, "Abhari, I would _advise_ you not to fight in the coming battle. Your wounds-" "Will be fine." they both look to see Caithe passing through the ivy of the mender's alcove. She is dressed in her dark green armor splashed with mint and winter hues, and her luminescence _glows_ in the seams, a white color with tinges of green. Her daggers are also new, the other pair, perhaps, been put into repair.

The cattails in her hair are tipped in black... poison, for the unlucky courtier to make a grab for her leaves.

Kahedins rises to challenge his sister, "_Caithe_, if she fights she risks infection, reopening the wounds I've closed-" she cuts him off, "Kahedins, _please_, we need all of our able bodied to fight. Abhari knows our enemy, regardless of her condition, if the capturer of the stag is to show, she will be the one to best combat him."

Abhari stiffens at the mention of the stag, scrambling after Caithe when she leaves with a dismissive turn on her heel. Kahedins protests but lets her go, murmuring to himself as he sets to work to ready his troop of menders; something about stubbornness running rampant in the cycle of Night.

"Caithe! Wait-" Abhari pulls back to avoid a warrior's carelessly swung mace, ducking a pair of saplings carrying buckets of water over their shoulders.

"Caithe-" she catches up with the firstborn, falling in step with her, though her ankles protest and her shoulder certainly gripes, "Do you really think Gavin will come?" she does not know what to call the turmoil in her stomach. Apprehension? Anticipation? She's not sure which.

"I don't doubt it, sapling." Caithe's bright eyes glance at her, looking her up and down, "You should get fitted with new armor. Courtiers are gathering at Astorea, but I would not be surprised if they know a way to bypass the upper levels quickly." The firstborn tries dismissing her, grabbing her shoulders and turning her to point her in the direction of one of the smith's seeing to the armaments of the wardens. But let it not be said that Abhari of Night was _not_ a curious, tenacious, _adamant _little sprout.

"Caithe, can't we just _talk_?" she has so many questions. How many do the Nightmare number? Are you sure Gavin will be there? Sariel? Even this Faolain character, though she'd only heard the name in passing whispers and wasn't entirely sure Faolain was indeed Nightmare. What about Niamh? Will her wardens be able to hold off the Court? And Marrow? By the Pale Tree where was that dog? Speaking of animals, where's the Stag, is he alright?

"_No_." and all those questions burned to ash with Caithe's fiery curse under her breath, "Abhari, **stop**, there is no time for you to be new at this. I cannot teach you formal warfare, I only know two things right now, one, Nightmare is coming, two, they're not leaving the Grove alive." She grabs Abhari by her arm and points to the sylvari giving away his stores of leathers.

"Armor up, we fight at dawn." and she _vanishes_, leaving Abhari in the middle of a garden preparing for war.

Suddenly she feels very small.

She stands on the precipice of battle and it is _frightening_. She only sees darkness ahead, one she is not familiar with. The darkness is not as kind as that of nightfall, it is black and poisonous and digs into her with claws that peel back her bark and leaves her vulnerable to everything.

Until a cold nose buries into her palm.

She looks down to see her troublesome dog with a studded glove in his mouth, his bright green eyes looking up at her morosely. He tries to bark but it is muffled by the glove.

She laughs and kneels, rubbing down his neck, "Thank you, Marrow, I'm sure this will protect me." he does, at the least, seem pleased with himself when she accepts he glove and he gives her a proper lick on her cheek.

She pats his head and stands, taking in a breath to calm her shivering soul and goes to the armor smith Caithe pointed out to her. She is fitted in a loose set of leathers, she's never seen measurements taken so quickly, and soon enough she finds herself standing at the ready with a bow that feels foreign in her hands.

She takes a closer look at it, made of birch perhaps, or beech, it is not well sanded, a scrapped together weapon for the purpose of a hasty battle, perhaps built by an apprentice. But it will serve her better than no bow at all. Her arrows, at least, she can say were fine-tuned, brightly colored fletching made from the feathers of the jungle birds of Caledon, dark shafts narrowing in a slick point, same as her sword and dagger, made from crude iron but sharp enough to withstand one battle.

Yet she feels under prepared.

"You have fought battles like these, haven't you, Marrow?" she glances down to her hound who looks right back at her, tongue lolling outside his mouth and chest heaving quickly as dogs do. She is reminded that he is older than her; he had had a previous master, lost in a battle eerily similar to this one. But he offers her no tips or pointers on survival, only a gentle nuzzle against her leg, a happy bark, and a swish of his tail. _You'll be fine, I'm here._

"Thanks." She murmurs to him, smirking at his nonchalance, until he's stiff as a board, ears swiveling in one direction then the next and eyes glued to the entrance of the terrace.

He hears what she cannot, and she trusts him enough to follow his lead.

She stretches the string of her longbow, the bright red fletching tickling her cheek. She breathes in through her nose, out through her mouth, and hones in on the closed entryway.

She listens as she has learned to in the wild, the irrelevant sounds, that of the breathing of her comrades, fade away, and she listens for what does not belong.

Footsteps.

The clatter of foot soldiers, shuffle of armor, and the murmurs of those able casting boons on their brothers in arms.

When the archway to Dreamer's Terrace flies open with a flourish she lets loose her arrow, straight into the jugular of a courtier.

He drops before he can scream, just a dark mass collapsing to the ground, his gold luminescence blinking out like a flame. It is familiar, seeing a fellow sylvari crumple to the ground; her brother, but also her enemy, one she is educated in fighting against.

It is the black spider as big as Marrow that crawls over the courtier's body without a care that gives her the chills. Its fangs glisten and drip with vile poison, eight legs stampedingin staggered unison across the ground and a sharp _hsssshh _escaping the orifice of rowed teeth when it leaps in the air to sink its teeth into a screaming elementalist. A warrior jumps on the spider's back, hacking away with his dual axes until it _screams_ and curls in on itself when it dies, trapping the barely conscious elementalist in its dead legs. The warrior tries freeing her, but he is smashed in the back by a courtier's shield. He spins to deflect the attacking sword, falling into combat with the courtier while the elementalist slips into a paralytic coma from the spider's poison. Her pearl white flesh curls yellow and brown.

Abhari does not think she will make it through the night.

Her view from the helical ramps gives her a vantage point over the battle, spiders and hounds that are filled with the fear of their masters attack as the front line, and only when they perish do the courtier's themselves move in on their weakened prey.

A wise strategy, but the sylvari of the Grove have the home advantage, and they _fight_ as hard as they can, the Grove itself empowering them with strength and passion. But some do not make it past the first wave of attack.

Luckily, from what she can see, there are not many last breaths on the side of the Dream, Kahedins and his menders fighting alongside the soldiers, scholars, and adventurers, healing wounds almost as soon as they are inflicted, and who are more than capable of defending themselves.

She sees Niamh fighting valiantly, a battle cry on her lips each time she cuts down an enemy and turns to a new one. She appears to relish battle, as do her wardens who war alongside her, bashing enemies aside as if they pose no threat; until suddenly she is fallen, gasping for breath on her hands and knees, her skin turned a sickly black and green; necrotic poison. Abhari near abandons her post to assist the luminary, the death of one would certainly turn the tide of battle—but a sapling beats her to the general of the wardens, a sylvari whose luminescence glows like a torch, her hands on fire, a guardian's blue sort, and Niamh is breathing again, muttering gratitude to her student before hoisting herself to her feet and screaming into battle.

Abhari is startled at the fervor Niamh holds... then is reminded that most noon blooms carry the same enthusiasm when she sees the sapling bathed in blue fire roaring a battle cry that makes some courtiers back pedal, run forward to join Niamh.

Abhari stiffens when she hears a scream nearby, turning to see a fellow archer be cut down by a greatsword wielding warrior. She looks up at Abhari hungrily when her head snaps back, an arrow buried between her eyes, and it takes Abhari more than a moment to realize it is _her_ arrow, bright red against the swelling gold escaping the dead skull.

She runs to the fallen ranger, pressing her fingers into his neck, hopeful, but she feels no slow pump of sap in his veins. His dead eyes stare up at her and a stale breath lingers on his lips that almost makes her retch, covering her nose and mouth from the stench of death.

"Wait—?" a fresh kill does not wreak, not like this. She jumps to her feet when the sylvari's skin decays to the bone, cracked wooden ribs and peeling flesh hanging on sinew and tendons, black veins shriveled dry. Suddenly his ribs split open and she _screams_, shooting off a hasty arrow into the minion scrambling outside the sylvari's chest. It squeals sharply, arrow jutting out of its head, trampling after her on two flimsy legs. It lunges at her, screaming as if it were on fire, a _screeeaahh_ escaping its chortled throat.

Until it explodes.

She shields her eyes, feeling simmering goo splatter against her, the force of the explosion making her skid back on her feet. She yelps when her heels hit the rim of the ramp, she wheels her arms desperately, trying to regain her balance, her voice crying out in panic, "Marrow!" and she can hear his anxious bark when he hears his master's shout, but she does not see him.

The world tilts and a chill wind rushes past her. She can barely scream when her back hits the ground, coming out as a strangled cry, old wounds splitting open, her vision going white and her mind _screeching_ with pain.

"Valiant! Abhari, are you—?" She cannot see Caithe, just a blur of movement hovering over her. When her vision heals, she realizes it is because Caithe has enveloped both of them in stealth, appearing invisible to their enemies hungering for blood.

She feels the smoky sensation of Caithe's healing, smells the burn of mint unique to the thief's magic. She also feels Marrow's soothing regeneration, like a cool wind, and he nuzzles against her as if in apology. She cannot see him either except in muddled invisibility, but can feel his chuff of breath against her cheek.

"I—I'm f-fine." she grimaces at her own lie, but between Caithe and Marrow, she feels well enough to fight again.

Regardless, Caithe is gentle in helping her up, pulling her to her feet and steadying her with hands on the sapling's shoulders.

"Valiant, this fight needs to end _soon_. We must find Sariel, I am sure she is the one who is leading this attack." Abhari gasps, her throat dry, but manages to croak, "Y-yes, I agree." she swallows, managing to pull at her own magic to thread together her ragged throat, sending some into her throbbing back. She is sure she will receive quite the lecture from Kahedins when the battle is done.

"Can your dog track her down?" Abhari blinks slowly at Caithe when the stealth field times out, surprised, and she _blushes_ when the question suddenly registers in her mind.

"Uhm..." she looks at Marrow, "I-I think so." she kneels in front of him, "Marrow, can you track Sariel?" she asks. His ears swivel towards her, listening, recognizing the name on her lips as that of the pale barked sylvari he'd thrown against a canyon wall earlier this night.

He throws his nose into the air, tracking around while the sounds of battle dim, the third wave of attackers nearly vanquished. He barks and looks directly at Abhari, his ear swiveling into the second alcove commons area relatively untouched by battle.

"She is here."

"Lead us, Marrow." Caithe calls to the hound, his name awkwardly falling off her tongue. He looks at her as if in offense, snorting and looking instead at Abhari who gestures with a nod. He huffs but obeys Caithe's _suggestion_ followed by his master's **order**, turning aloofly away from Caithe to follow Sariel's scent.

He leads them into the second common area, where they will likely receive no back up from the wardens guarding the entrance of the terrace. But Abhari knows the shadows of this place, and does not see courtiers in hiding, waiting to pounce, at least, not in any of the usual spots. And then Sariel's voice echoes around them, a cold laugh carried on a freezing wind.

"Look who it is, my favorite firstborn. I'm _charmed_." and there she is, dressed in her oil black armor, standing ready on a helix, her hands on her hips and a _smug_ smile thinning her lips.

She looks healed, fresh and ready for battle, it makes Abhari's wounds, new and old, **ache**, remembering the feeling of Sariel's shield smashing down on her chest more than once. Then those lilting marsh eyes land on Abhari and they turn cold and bitter.

"_You_, I would have you _flayed_ alive for what you've done." she snarls, her pomp display vanishing in thin air.

Abhari can at least gain satisfaction from that, knowing that she is the bane to Sariel's career in the Nightmare Court. So she puts on a sweet smile, beckoning to the sylvari of winter skin.

"You'll have to _catch _me first." She was getting good at this whole banter thing.

Sariel narrows her eyes; her hands clenching into fists, trembling under the pressure which she digs her nails into her palms.

"Poor Sariel," Caithe interrupts, pursing her lips in a mock pout, "Did you really think you could just walk into the Grove and take the stag?" she taunts.

Abhari is surprised when Sariel does not snarl back, she instead smiles, looking pleased when she replies to Caithe, "No, Caithe. I also planned on leaving you in a pool of your own blood. And, well, here you are." She gestures, flourishing her sword.

Caithe scoffs, unimpressed, "Even Faolain couldn't tame that temper of yours. But I'm sure _my_ blades can do better." Abhari mentally took notes, stalling is as good a tactic as combat, but, as it would seem, is as useful a tool for both sides of battle.

Sariel's voice rises when she points at ranger and thief, shouting, "Now! While their backs are turned!"

_Ambush_.

Abhari spins, readying her sword and dagger, expecting an attack from behind. But when she turns, she does not expect the blow to her stomach that freezes her bones solid in... fear?

The gasp that escapes her lips betrays her to him who stands before her, and his familiar green eyes glance at her, they seem sad. He shakes his head, and steps forward, raising his voice against Sariel.

"Where is your honor, Sariel?" Gavin accuses, bitter hate pursing his lips thin as he looks on Sariel in obvious disgust, "We are not cutthroats or animals! We kill when needed—when we can use that blood to grow a garden." He gestures from where he came, where sylvari watch in surprise, anxious for the outcome of this unexpected development. Sariel sneers, nose crinkling in distaste, "_Gavin_, I-" he is suddenly in front of her in a flash of light. His hand closes on her throat and she cries out, scrambling at his hand on her neck, but her nails barely break the skin of his armor.

"No, Sariel, _leave_, and meditate on this-" he pulls her close to his face, snarling, "-And should you fail to learn, I'll _kill_ you myself." and he lets her go. She stumbles, coughing horribly, but she does not fight him, "This isn't over-" she growls, rubbing her neck. At first, Abhari thinks she means Gavin, but the bruised sylvari turns to Caithe, "-one day I'll kill you, and your _pet_." she deliberately looks at Gavin then Abhari, she does not miss Gavin's fist clenching tight and jaw setting as he glares at Sariel.

"No matter what the _Grand Duchess_ says." she spits the ground at Caithe's feet and scampers off like a dog with her tail between her legs, cursing the whole way.

Gavin _sighs_, rubbing his brow tiredly, hoping to chase off a coming headache.

"My friend, I... apologize for Sariel's behavior, she is _young_ and hasn't learned to temper her power with wisdom." He meets Abhari's eyes, his words soft and soothing and she clenches her teeth.

Her heart _aches_ more than it has in the months since the sylvari before her left her for dead in the marsh. She can see in his eyes the same ache, though his is lit with sorrow and hers with rage but... she doesn't _like_ it at all, she doesn't _want _it.

"Abhari." Caithe mutters in warning when the sapling approaches the guardian. She ignores the firstborn, stopping in front of Gavin, narrowing her eyes at him.

He lets her, does not say anything, and just looks her over as she does him.

He is... _different_ somehow. Older, maybe, or at least, now she sees his true colors. Instead of the crude and shabby chainmail armor, he now wears heavy armor carved from oak and cherry, forged with heartwood and thorns that stud his pauldrons and gauntlets, and stained in red, tipped in poisonous blue and a lush fern hue.

She purses her lips, furrowing her brow when she looks him over.

He is different, _foreign_, a stranger... but he is also the same and everything she has learned over the past few months _begs_ her for revenge but... he is still her friend.

Until he opens his mouth and that _rage_ comes rushing back.

"Sapling, you've-" when she hears his voice everything _shatters_ and his head _snaps_ to the side with a satisfying _smack_, cheek turning dark and though her palm _burns_, she knows it was completely worth it.

He laughs weakly, rubbing his jaw, his face throbbing from the slap that feels like a fire storm.

"I... guess I **deserved** that." he turns back to the Night bloom, and can see that her lips quiver though they are pursed thin, not in fear or sadness, but pure _rage_, that he sees reflected in her eyes. She is _angry_ but, he notes, not solely because of him, because he can feel her emotions and can tell they are not all directed at him. But then her resolve just _melts_ away and he's surprised when she sighs, stands on her toes and pulls him into a tight hug, arms around his neck.

"I-I'm not so sure I deserve _this_ though." he says, laughing, but returns the hug just the same. She seethes, "_Dammit_, Gavin." he pulls away just as quickly, sudden realization, "You're still wounded from your fight with Sariel."

She grimaces, "So you heard about that."

He smiles, "One of the reasons why I'm here." He sees her face fall at that.

Abhari steps away from him, turning her back and walking away, burying her face in her hands. He can hear her murmuring curses in her palms, and he smirks.

He remembered a young little thing with the wonder of the world in her eyes. This one though, she wasn't the same sapling he left in the marsh, but he believes that that flower still wrestles inside her. No sylvari scorned by nightmare and ripped of wonder would slap and hug him all in the same go. Then he sees Caithe standing in the shadow of the entry way. Her face is dark, a stern expression, her daggers drawn, but she makes no move toward either ranger or guardian, and even Marrow sits casually on the side, no worse for the wear from the previous battle. Gavin can sense no malice from the dog, but neither the overwhelming joy he knows Marrow greets Abhari with every morning.

"Gavin-" he looks up to Abhari and can see her eyes have hidden their emotions and mouth has hardened, "-you can't have the stag."

He _sighs_, "Sapling, you don't understand-"

"What is there to **understand**, Gavin?!" she snaps, "The Court is evil. It is destructive and _poisonous_... you and Sariel are two of a kind." he blinks, surprised.

She did not learn rage without learning to wield it either over these past few months. He places his hand over his heart as if struck, "Abhari! You wound me-" he tries to smile, "-I am _nothing_ like Sariel. She is an honorless _craven_. I have been straight with you."

She purses her lips, struggling to speak what she knows should be said, but her mind combats against her. She feels her fabricated courage fall soon as she realizes she is _done_ with what should be.

"I... I know Gavin but...I am trying to _hate_ you and it is... harder than I expected. You are Nightmare, you represent evil and darkness."

He offers her a genuine smile, "My friend... is darkness such a bad thing?" she closes her mouth with a _click_. She has no response for that.

"Abhari, you know the world is not so black and white. Ventari would paint it with an idealized brush but... that is just _not the case_. Please, let me take the stag, with it I can free the sylvari from the tablet's influence. It is for the greater good." he feels his heart _fall_ when she sets her shoulders and clenches her jaw, determined.

"_No_, I can't let you do that, Gavin." He does not miss her voice trembling in her throat. She does not _want_ to fight him... so he will force her.

"Very well, Valiant, let me prove that the Nightmare Court has honor. Duel me. For the winner, the white stag... for the defeated—death." He cannot allow her the stag, not without knowing he gave his all for the freedom of the sylvari.

Her eyes widen, "_No_, Gavin-"

"Sapling, you _must_." Caithe touches Abhari's shoulder, eyes narrowing at Gavin, "Or he will call on the full force of the Court on the Grove." the ranger shrugs away from Caithe's touch as if burned by fire, glancing between thief and courtier.

He can see her fighting, the conflict evident on her face. She catches his gaze, and he can read her silent plea.

_Leave, don't come back for the stag_.

But he shakes his head, he can't do that, not for her, not for anyone, "Sapling, what is your response?" he asks, removing emotion from his voice.

He sees that fire again, the rage, and it wounds him that he was the one to put it there in the first place, but he does not regret it, not with the freedom of his people at stake.

"Very well, _Gavin_." she rests her hands on the pommels of her sword and dagger, clenching her hands tight when she feels her fingers start to tremble.

"I accept your challenge... and your terms. Let's begin." _Mother, protect me_.

The watching wardens file into two lines as if rehearsed, facing each other, and she feels a bulb in her throat swell at the recognition of a formal duel field. Gavin stands easily at his place on the opposite end of the commons from her, but she stumbles, her feet unwilling to move.

"Sapling, this way." Caithe murmurs to her, grabbing her by her elbow to lead her to the end of the hall of wardens, turning her to face Gavin.

She cannot read his expression, brow low and lips set in a firm scowl.

He is hiding.

"Valiant, listen to me." Caithe whispers, gentle hand cold on her back. She pulls away by reflex; she does not _want_ to listen, but Caithe does not take anything from the reaction.

"Do not underestimate him or hold back. He is experienced, and you are young, but you are also _powerful_, don't hold back."

Abhari turns to the firstborn, "I _won't_." she says deliberately with fire in her eyes. Caithe nods and retreats. Abhari returns to facing Gavin, but unlike him, she does not hide her expression. She will hold nothing back, because she knows this fight will take her _everything_.

"I will fight you with honor, Valiant... let all assembled bear witness." he speaks but she does not hear _him_, just a stone soul wearing his armor. He gives her a deep bow, she follows, even Marrow who stands beside her lowers himself in a respectable bow.

He must have been formally trained for dueling, the thought and sight gives her a small smile, until she looks up and sees Gavin's mace and shield drawn. She fumbles to draw her sword when he charges, leaping to smash his mace down _hard_ on her. The _claaaang_ of her sword blocking the attack screams in her ears, fingers going numb when the vibrations dissipate the force of the attack. He gives away a small smile, "You've gotten faster." he murmurs, before spinning on his heel, swinging his mace around, aiming for her side.

Another _claaaang_ reverberates up her arm and loudly in the air space when she twists her arm to block the attack again.

"_Parry_, Abhari." she scowls at him, and when he lifts his mace to strike again she dodges backward, rolling off her shoulders and popping back up to her feet, throwing her dagger.

Surprised, Gavin lifts his shield in time to clip the dagger's path, and instead of his throat, it lodges into the armor of his shoulder.

He grimaces at the force but can feel the dagger did not break skin... until he lowers his shield to see Abhari running at him. She jumps, grabbing the hilt of her dagger and thrusting it into his shoulder, then wrenching it out when she uses his own shoulders to flip over him.

He grits his teeth, seething at the pain that nearly cripples his shield arm, but he manages to regain himself enough to spin on his heel, raising his mace to block Abhari's sword. But unlike a warrior, who would stand and struggle to gain the upper hand, she ducks, dodging around him and slicing across his back with a poisoned blade, venomous green magic trailing behind her. When he turns to smash his mace down she is not there, already dodging back, and his mace splinters the ground, but she's in the air again, lunging forward. He lifts his shield, blocking the attack and swings his mace, catching her in the leg. She drops, biting her tongue _hard_ when she hits the ground. She hears Gavin shout a familiar chant and suddenly she is not only on the ground, but _flying_ backwards, shoulder's burning when she skids across the ground.

Marrow is at her side soon as she slides to a halt, helping her up though her vision positively _spins_. She sees Gavin's blue dome of guardian magic fade when he stands back up from the shield stance, smiling.

"I am impressed, Abhari, you've taken to your combat studies well over the past few months."

"I _had_ to, Gavin. Something about being left for dead told me I should hit the books..." she can tell the memory hurts him as much as it does her but... but he should _not_ have done it if he was going to—oh _hell_. He teleports in a flash of light in front of her, swinging his mace that she barely manages to duck, she blindly dodges, shouting, "Marrow!" hearing a low howl and feels the Sylvan hound's regeneration energy wash over her. Her vision clears to see Marrow standing in front of her protectively, a snarl curling his lips, revealing his mouth stained black from killing a Court spider.

Gavin hesitates, surprised at the dog, until he hears Abhari's command whispered in a harsh snarl, "_Sic im'_." The dog _lunges_, Gavin quickly pulling his shield up, hearing the scrabble of claws on wood, and the pressure of an animal throwing himself at it, and using it to jump back.

He dodges back, out of Marrow's reach, only to hear a _twang_, an arrow bursting past him, slicing open his cheek.

Abhari stands across the commons, sylvari spectators watching with baited breath as she retrieves a second arrow, knocking it to the white wood bow and pulling it taut.

She is about to release it when he speaks, "You _care_." she stops.

"What?"

"You asked me once, what your downfall would be. From here, it looks like your _heart_ will be yours." She lets loose the arrow, a flare of anger releasing her fingers on the string. Blue shields fly up around him, deflecting the arrow into the ground with a flash of light. He charges, dodging Marrow's lunge for his legs and swinging his mace around to crack into Abhari's bow, her frightened shot flying wide, worse yet, the wood in her hand splinters, cracking down the middle. An apprentice's work was always shoddy in craftsmanship.

His shield, blunter than Sariel's, but still _stings_, smashes into her and she stumbles back, dazed. Her fingers feel like pins and needles and her arms feel heavy, she isn't going to last long like this, she needs to _stall_.

"What is yours?" she looks up in time to see his mace raised.

But his grip falters.

"What?"

"What will be your downfall? One of us isn't going to make it, so, what will be your downfall?"

"I don't know. The point of one is that the bearer falls because of it, not for knowing it."

But she smiles, because she thinks she's figured it out, "I think it is your heart, too..." he seems shocked at the prospect, "...why?"

"You're listening to me, aren't you?" she feels her nature magic flood her system all at once and adrenaline suddenly pounds into her lungs.

Realizing his mistake, Gavin jumps forward, mace coming down on her arm raised in defense. She _screams_ when the bones _crack, _her arm uselessly clutching against her stomach when it falls. She scrabbles for her dagger, managing to step back onto a helix and deflect his mace with a _shiiing_ of colliding metal, sparks flying. She deflects again when he swings back relentlessly, backpedaling on her heels, further up the ramp, desperately defending against his attacks. Gavin swings his mace around a third time, feeling the ache in his wounded shoulder start to slow his attacks. Sparks fly up from dagger and mace when Abhari deflects once more, gasping in pain. She feels woozy, and her fingers are going numb, her ribs _throb_ and her ankle bends awkwardly, probably broken, like the arm she clutches against her stomach, sharp pain bolting up to her shoulder with each incidental touch.

She jumps back one last time, shuddering when her heels hit the rim of the ramp, a dark sense of déjà vu turning her spine cold. Gavin notices, but doesn't smile, he knows this is the death of a friend, and is nothing worth celebrating.

Abhari screws her eyes shut, bracing for the strike, but she feels him hesitate, "...sapling-" she bites her lip, this is it. She opens her eyes, lurching forward, crying out when he grabs her throat in surprise but his grip only lasts a moment, nails digging in her flesh then abruptly releasing.

His eyes widen, feeling a poison spreading from his heart to the rest of his body; his mind goes _everywhere_ at once, then suddenly nowhere at all.

"S-sapling—" she _gasps_ when he drops, knees buckling in and she scrambles under his weight when she catches him, falling to her own knees.

She struggles to ease him down, crying out when her wounds stretch and split, the bones in her arm splintering apart when his weight falls on them.

She manages to lower him onto his back, the hilt of her dagger jutting out of his chest, golden sap tainted acidic green with poison swelling up beneath it.

She nearly heaves when she sees a course of green veins spread up his neck, covering her mouth and forcing her queasy stomach to settle. Tears prickle her cheeks when she sees his once vibrant green eyes start to fade, his chest heaving slower and slower. He blinks, turning his head to look up at her, everything he does is slow and coursing in pain, but he turns to see her, to meet her.

He _smiles_, crinkling the corners of his eyes, "I will be remembered, Abhari-" his voice is warm, laughing, like how it was over their many campfires, sharing dried fruits and stories. He speaks as if in triumph, his memories tainted both by nightmare and by her own existence, primed to be seen and experienced by young unborn saplings, "In the Dream."

She has to cover her mouth when his eyes look through her and his chest falls but never rises. Her tears are sharp and bitter and _oh thorns what have I done?_

She dry heaves into her hand, her stomach empty, giving her nothing but dried blood to expel. Marrow sits next to her, resting against her thigh and giving the softest of comforting rumbles from his chest.

"Good work sapling." Her head snaps up to see Caithe approaching, her daggers sheathed and a sigh of relief on her lips.

"It is over, this is a great victory for the dream, and the Court will not try this particular tactic again." She touches Abhari's shoulder in what was supposed to be comfort, but to the sapling on her knees, it is cold and unwanted and a prevalent reminder of _everything_ that has led to this moment. Everything that she wants to forget.

"The Court is in retreat, there will be celebrations for days over this victory-"

"Caithe," they both look to see Aife standing below with the stag, safe and relatively unharmed, "Malomedies is asking for you." The thief nods and glances down on the corpse of the courtier.

"We'll go through and collect the dead, burn the courtiers outside the Grove, you should seek out a mender, sapling… your victory was well fought." She squeezes Abhari's shoulder before quietly following Niamh.

When they are gone she laughs under her breath, harsh and cruel, "A _victory_, Caithe?" she wants to be **furious** but… but the sadness is greater than her anger.

"Marrow," he perks at the sound of his name, "This wasn't a victory, was it?" she asks, reaching with her good arm to scratch him behind the ear.

He offers her no response.

She bats him away playfully, smiling weakly when she tries pulling herself up. She grits her teeth when each movement sends painful signals to the ache in her skull. She was going nowhere like this.

But then a black nose nudges her temple. She looks up to see the stag, sad brown eyes watching her. Black tear streaks muddle his fur and he looks the worse for wear but... he does seem unharmed, no open wounds or sores.

He bows his head to her and for a moment she does not know what he wants—until he nudges her shoulder.

She blushes, ears turning dark. She starts to protest, "I can't-" but he gives her a look, before offering her his antlers.

"...Alright..." she grimaces when she moves, grabbing one of his antlers of carved bone, chipped and splattered with goo, and _seethes_ when he lifts her up.

"Slowly, _slowly_, please." she gasps, wobbling when he sets her on her feet. He lets her cling to him to regain herself, hard of breath and sweating.

"Al-alright, hold still." she smooths the stag's neck and gestures to Marrow, "Help me with him." the dog obeys, unceremoniously pulling Gavin up by the gauntlet, sure to leave teeth marks in the armor. She hooks the guardian's arm over her neck and _pulls_ with all her might, stumbling when he barely moves.

"_Dammit_ Gavin." she laughs, "that armor is getting us nowhere." her voice thickens when she speaks and she has to take a moment to swallow and breath.

The stag nudges her again gently, and tenderly lowers himself to the sloped ground. He does not gripe about his skinned knees, and gladly offers her the use of his back.

She smiles, smooths his fur, "Thanks, old boy." between her and Marrow they manage to haul Gavin's body onto the stag's back. She makes sure the guardian is steady when the stag pulls himself up, wobbly under the weight, weeks of starvation and torture making him frail. In fact, it is the one he carries on his back that put him in a cage but... he does not complain, and she is thankful for that.

"Take it easy, old boy." She coos, carefully walking down the ramp, half-limping herself and keeping a hold on Gavin's armor.

The process is long and arduous, making it down the ramp alone feels like ages. It is in the first common area where it becomes centuries.

The stag buckles under the weight of the guardian and the ranger, she nearly falls with him, stumbling forward and cursing when her ankle bends in a way it was not meant to bend. The stag lays himself off his wounded leg, humming softly in pain, snuffling the grass underfoot; it does not look like he will be going anywhere soon.

"Thanks," she murmurs to him when she regains herself, "We'll take it from here." Though she does hope there is no ultimate taboo for dragging a corpse meant for a grave.

"Marrow, help me." The dog huffs at her but follows her lead, pulling Gavin off the stag by his arms. Somehow, through it _all_, she swears he's gotten heavier.

"By the Pale _Tree_, Gavin." she gasps when she pulls hard to drag him a couple feet, hooking both arms underneath his. Her broken arm has gone numb, both from blood loss and the damage on her nerves, she suspects, so she tries not to worry about using it to drag her friend away, tries not to notice the bone she can see jutting out of her elbow.

"Come on, Gavin, just a little further... _help me out_." she means it to be silly, to give herself a smile at the least, but it isn't—it swells her throat shut and her heart _throbs_.

"Dammit, just a little _further_." Marrow does his best, having retrieved Gavin's fallen mace and trotting alongside Abhari's slow progress, nudging both her and the body for encouragement... or impatience, either or.

But she swears she's about to give up when she's halfway through the first commons, cleared of bodies since last she saw it, but the blood and scars remain. She gasps, letting him drop to catch her breath once more.

"_For the love of—_Gavin! I am **not** burying you in the middle of the plaza!" she laughs, "You'll be in the way..." she ignores the tear drop that slides down her skin and hits her forearm.

"Come on old man, let's go-" she reaches beneath his arms and floods her system with sheer _will_, pulling hard, "You were, what, seven years older than me? I think that constitutes the title-" she's near across the common area, gasping for breath, "-A-and you had all those _stories_, how many were true, Gavin? Or were they all _fantasy_." she pulls again, she's beneath the far ramp, nearly there, "Heh, I wouldn't blame you, sapling like me, I believed every word you said." she gasps when she drags him one last time into a vacant alcove, walls lined in gold, bathed in flickering light.

This is one of the few spots in Dreamer's Terrace with a clear view to the sky; it catches light best during dusk. Right now the sky is a lavender color, burning on the edges with the coming sun, promising a warm day in the jungle.

It glows when there's evening light and... Gavin being a Dusk flower, she figured...

"Here, Marrow, start digging." She drags a line in the ground with her foot, looking around for something to start digging. A small garden shovel lays dejected in the corner, chipped, but in good enough condition for shallow digging.

She stoops to grab it, turning around to see Marrow snuffling the ground where she's drawn the line, pawing at it, sneezing, and looking up at her.

"What?" he sneezes again.

"_Marrow_, don't be a princess." She teases him, tenderly kneeling down, clutching her broken arm to her stomach and lifting the little garden shovel over her head.

She is pleasantly surprised when the shovel pierces through the ground easily, sliding to the hilt in soft wet sod.

"Thank the Tree." She sighs in relief. She was worried that the whole site would be tough red clay, near impossible to dig anything into. She finds herself wondering if the rest of the garden is as soft as this spot—some fresh flowers would do the battle scarred terrace well.

Marrow watches her for a moment, melodramatically sighing before pulling himself to his feet, starting to dig where she marked and creating much more progress than she with his webbed paws.

She can hear a celebration going on in the market by the time the sun has escaped the horizon, a festival for the victory in Dreamer's Terrace. But no one comes to fetch her, even check to see if there is anyone down in the gardens who are missing the party. She can smell the sugar of baked pastries and sweet bread, the low thrumming of percussion instruments and laughter. There will be fireworks tonight, at least, she thinks. She'd never experienced a festival, this would be her first, and one she would rather not partake in. Instead, she digs in silence until her body goes numb.

She is not sure how long she and Marrow work, long enough for the stag to recover and walk to the alcove, watching curiously as he rests in the shadows.

Soon enough the grave is deep enough for her to be satisfied, and the act of lowering Gavin into it is yet another tedious task but one she would rather do herself… even though she nearly crushes Marrow when he volunteers to provide a counter weight against Gavin's. She fumbles with the vine she's tied around the guardian.

The _look_ Marrow gives her makes her laugh enough to restore some warmth to her cold bones. He huffs at her but does not argue in helping her further. It is a shallow enough grave, had she the energy she may have gone deeper but… she is no elementalist, "Though that would have helped." She murmurs with a scowl. An elementalist would have just waved her hand and the earth would bend to her will, she'd have been done hours ago.

But she is a ranger, poor in magic but… she wouldn't have been able to do this without Marrow… or the stag.

"Thanks boy." She kisses his mud splattered head when he jumps out of the grave, and he seems to forgive her for nearly dropping a body in heavy armor on top of him when he nuzzles her cheek.

"Get me his mace." The dog dips his head and grabs the weapon from across the alcove, splattered in her own blood, forged with mithril and inlaid with a lapis lazuli inscription.

She isn't versed enough in weaponsmithing to name it. She gingerly lowers herself into the grave, kneeling awkwardly beside her friend.

"Uhm… I don't know any of the rites, Gavin-" she smirks, shaking her head, "…I… I'm not even sure if we go to the mists… or the Dream or…" she bites her lip, reaching over to take his hand, folding each arm over his chest in a cross, "but… I think it's the mists so… whoever judges your soul or… however that works, I hope they find you worthy." She grimaces when she lifts his shield, using her gimp arm to maneuver it in place over his chest. Marrow gingerly hands her the mace, teeth marks in the hilt but she doesn't complain; she hooks it into the clasp at Gavin's hip, letting it rest where it should, "I know they will," she smiles, "You weren't evil… dark, maybe but… I guess so am I… you were honorable and I hope that is how you are best remembered in the Dream." She reaches to close his eyes, kissing each lid for good luck and pulls herself up, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying out when her bones groan and creak. With Marrow's unscrupulous help, she manages to clamber outside the three foot grave, turning to look down on her friend.

"I hope to see you there someday, my friend." And she sets to work to cover him up, tentatively shoveling dirt back into the grave, Marrow shoving small mounds in with his nose, his face turning black with dirt by the time the hole is filled.

Fresh dirt marks the grave, she's not sure what to use for a headstone… maybe a stone or… a tree… honestly her mind is too sluggish to think, and she's not even sure how long she's been at work, her vision blurs around the edges and she doesn't have the strength to look up to the sky so far overhead to check.

All she knows is that the celebration is still going, as she can smell roasting meats, succulent fruits… but also the death that still lingers in this place.

She doesn't have the strength to stand, she's too tired to go to sleep and she knows the unmitigated wounds have done a number on her... maybe if she were to lie down here... would she melt into the earth with Gavin?

She starts when Marrow gives a low whine, flinching when a hand rests on her shoulder, a dark figure crouching next to her.

"Sapling…why aren't you resting?" She squints at the figure, only able to recognize Malomedies via his brass colored eyes.

"Uhm… I-I—I had to bury him." She swallows, "I c-couldn't let them burn him." her mentor does not respond for a moment, mulling over his thoughts.

Finally, he sighs, "You haven't seen a mender yet." "...No..." he mutters under his breath and stands, calling over someone she cannot see, "Fetch me Kahedins." "Yes sir." she hears someone's bare feet patter off, returning to the upper levels in search of the Luminary of Dusk.

"Can you stand?"

"No." She doesn't try, she knows she cannot.

"Alright." Had she the mind to she'd have turned dark red and squeaked in protest when he kneels down to her, gently pushing her back against his arm and hooking his other one beneath her knees, picking her up softly. He is stronger than he looks, and she feels almost lulled to sleep resting her head on his chest when he walks.

She can hear Marrow trailing behind them, keeping an eye on his master for her own sake as well as his. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knows where Malomedies is taking her; the shadow of a ramp or archway passes over her, then the soft brush of ivy leaves on her skin, followed by an abrupt pain shooting up her back when he goes to set her down on a mender's table.

She seethes and tenses up, the pain alone bringing burning tears to her eyes.

"Apologies, sapling." Malomedies murmurs to her, trying again to set her down gentle as he can, but pain still manages to shoot up each limb, reverberating through her even as she lies on the table, flinching and breathing hard through her teeth.

Only when she is able to relax a little does Malomedies step away, allowing Marrow to stand on his hind paws and investigate his master's predicament.

Satisfied, he huffs hot air at her as if scolding her for making him worry, disappearing over the edge of the table where she's sure he's nestled beneath to watch over her.

Some of her vision has returned and she can see Malomedies clearly now, looking over her wounds with a relatively trained eye. He _sighs_, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, sending a memory and a question to her tongue.

"Malomedies..." he opens his eyes to greet hers, "Yes, Abhari?"

"...you were angry with me before... why?"

He sighs again, obviously a question that needs a greater explanation than a simple yes or no.

"I was... not angry with _you_... more so that you would be willing to lose so much of yourself for another's wishes." _Caithe._

She hesitates, investigating memories from the past months, "I—" she purses her lips, looking away from his cynical gaze, "I... did not know that that would be the consequence for believing her..." she remembers seeing a sapling her age... a little over six months... and she can see the pure wonder of the world in him whereas she could bet that if she were to look in a mirror right now... beyond the broken mess... she would not be able to find that wonder again.

"Can I find it again?" She asks, looking up to him.

Malomedies frowns, shaking his head, "No, sapling, you won't."

* * *

She is a simple thing now, as the warm noon sun flickers on her face, though she does not stir because of it. He can see the bruises in the light, her face is marred in them, swelling red and black, her neck covered in fingerprints and biting nails from one too many attempts to strangle her. Her beautiful cherry skin that glows warm in the sun is singed dark by fire, pockmarks burned into her chest and shreds of bark are peeled from her back, revealing the white flesh beneath that has turned green with infection.

But she was screaming not long ago.

Kahedins was setting her arm back into place, the bones stubborn to retreat back into her skin much less align properly for him to heal it. That alone was agony, but her ankle is still out of place and he knows that too many of her ribs are cracked. Right now, she and Kahedins rest, Kahedins seeing to her flesh wounds and paying particular attention to her back, having her resting on her side as he works. The thorns he'd pulled from her earlier were inches deep, but they had also stopped any bleeding if they had been ripped out, both saving her and creating immense pain for her.

He looks up with a glower when Malomedies' positively _electric_ aura grates on his nerves.

"_Malomedies, _there is nothing you can do for her, go celebrate or rest." He pleads with his brother, scoffing when the luminary of Night stubbornly sets his jaw.

"Why wasn't she seen to?"

Kahedins _sighs_, "Mal, I _don't know_, I sent one of my menders to scour the field and I guess he figured she would come for healing when she was ready."

"Ready?"

"She was in _mourning_ soon as the battle ended, Malomedies." He covers his face, breathing into his hand frustratingly, "I am _sorry,_ Mal, but I sincerely doubt she would have accepted any help until she was sure that courtier was buried."

Malomedies scowls but concedes, believing that much at least. He mutters something but relaxes, giving Kahedins a weak smile, "You're right, I'm sorry."

"Are you going to go rest now?"

"No." He smiles at Kahedins' colorful oath whispered harshly under his breath. He shakes his head and turns away from the first of the Night blooms, right into the view of another.

"How is she?" Kahedin's whips around to face Malomedies soon as Caithe speaks, shaking his head and giving the mesmer a glower. But he ignores the Dusk flower, his temper flaring towards the pale sylvari entering the mender's alcove.

"How _is_ she?" he laughs but it is not kind, it is filled with malice and he knows he will surely regret this later but _damn_ if his fury isn't _righteous_ right now.

"Caithe, you were _there_, you were supposed to **protect** her." Caithe starts in surprise at him, then narrows her eyes, opening her mouth to retort, only for Kahedins to grab Malomedies by the arm and push Caithe beyond the ivy none too gently.

"_Listen_." he growls at the both of them, "She is _sick_, I don't know if she is going to make it."

Malomedies is taken aback, "You said the bleeding-"

"The bleeding has stopped but the _infection_ is still running rampant. She very well may die of a fungus as much as her wounds. Have your argument out **here** where she can at least get some rest." he shoots them both a definitive look before retreating to tend to his comatose patient.

Soon as he goes beyond the ivy Caithe whirls on Malomedies, "By the Pale Tree, Malomedies-"

"You've run her _ragged_, Caithe." He interrupts with a snap, gesturing to the alcove where Kahedins has worked for many hours, "She has been closer to death more than _any_ of my other students and she is the youngest of them!" Caithe scoffs and turns away, yanking back when Malomedies grabs her arm, "_Look_ at her! Look at what you've **done** to her, Caithe!"

"I _helped_ her!" She snarls, wrenching her arm free of him, "If I had not intervened she'd have been Nightmare long ago!" "It would have been better than _this_!" She takes a step back in complete surprise, eyes wide and mouth gaping, blinking more than once as if she could not believe her ears. Then her expression switches suddenly, a snarl on her lips, brows pursed and eyes fiery, "I know you don't believe that, get your head straight Malomedies, or you'll have an entire generation of Night blooms turned Nightmare to answer for." and with that she walks briskly past him, likely heading up to the festival turn carnival that has gone strong since dawn.

Malomedies huffs and crosses his arms, pinching the bridge of his nose when a _roaring_ headache pounds against his skull as if trying to break free.

Up until a surprising _whuff_ breaks his concentration and he looks down to see the Sylvan hound previously guarding his master.

Marrow is what she calls him.

The dog drops onto his haunches, looking up at him with vibrant green eyes and a smile on his muzzle, panting away happily.

He smirks and reaches to pat the dog on the head, "Go watch over your master, I'm sure she needs you greater than I." the dog snuffs his hand aimlessly, sneezing and returning to the mender's alcove. Malomedies watches the dog go, shaking his head when he turns to leave, "Talking to dogs now, you _do _need to get some rest."


End file.
